Stress Baking
by Yatzstar
Summary: A series of Thranduil/Tauriel oneshots. If you have any prompts for future stories, leave them in the reviews!
1. Chapter 1 - Stress Baking

**A/N: So as you might notice...I discovered ****_Pushing Daisies. _****Then this happened. This can hardly be called a one-shot, but whatever. That's what I'm calling it.**

Tauriel sighed as she plodded wearily through the gates of the Elven Kingdom of Mirkwood, the huge pillars casting long shadows in the light of the setting sun. She had been out since well before dawn tracking the scent of multiple Orcs, and by the time she had located and dispatched them, the Silvan Elf was weary, battered, and her nerves had been thoroughly frayed.

She managed to make it to her quarters, before realizing she was starving. Tauriel tossed her bow and daggers on the bed, and made her way through the winding corridors down to the kitchens. They were empty, no surprise—most of the inhabitants of the Kingdom would have eaten almost two hours past.

The Silvan Elf noted one of the ovens was lit and glowing. She peered through the grating, and saw what looked to be a pie of some sort baking. Tauriel was wondering who had put it there as she poked through barrels and pantries in search of food. She discovered a flask of strawberry brandy, and returned out of curiosity to the oven. The Elf sipped her drink, the wonderful smell of the pie making her stomach rumble even more, but she was momentarily distracted as she tried to remember who might have a thing for making pies.

"Captain Tauriel?"

The Silvan Elf's heart just about leaped out of her throat at the voice behind her, only just managing to refrain from spilling her brandy. She whirled, and found herself staring up at a silver-haired Elf who stood head and shoulders above her.

"I see you have finally returned," The Elvenking said. "Good. There will be a storm tonight."

Tauriel placed a hand on her racing heart, feeling heat flood to her cheeks. She had to stop letting Thranduil unintentionally scare her. He would be the death of her one of these days.

"My lord," She managed at last, bowing her head respectfully. Thranduil set down the plate he was carrying, and peered into the oven.

"Is that your pie?" Tauriel inquired. The Elvenking nodded as he straightened.

"Yes," He replied. "Rather a hobby of mine. When I am troubled, I bake."

The Silvan Elf was rather surprised that her King had a hobby that was so…normal. She would have expected him to go riding out and slay some spiders if he got worked up.

"Are you any good?" She asked. Thranduil turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised slightly.

"Captain Tauriel, my opinion will make no difference on how good you think I am. Once it is finished, you may see for yourself."

"Of course, lord." Tauriel murmured, sipping her brandy. Thranduil opened the oven door, filling the kitchen with warmth and the smell of pie. Without bothering to use a pad, the silver-haired Elf reached in and took the hot pan, flicking it from the oven and placing it on the table with expert hands. Tauriel watched him work in fascination, as he grabbed a fork from its resting place in a drawer and began crimping the edges of the crust.

"What's in it?" The Silvan Elf inquired. Thranduil's crystalline eyes flickered to her briefly as he worked.

"Partridge, wild celery, barley, and arrowroot." He told her briefly, before retrieving a knife and slicing into the pie. "A recipe often used by Men when they go on long journeys. Here, try some."

The Elvenking offered her a slice, which Tauriel accepted gratefully. The mere smell was making her mouth water, and it tasted far better than anything she could cook up.

"It's wonderful, my lord," She told him, taking another bite. Thranduil tilted his head slightly.

"How do I know you are not simply saying that because I am your superior? You must realize that a king does not stay king if he cannot take criticism."

Tauriel raised her eyebrows at him. "My lord, I think you already know that if I disagreed with you, I would make that very clear."

Surprisingly, this statement caused the tiniest ghost of a smile to cross Thranduil's face briefly.

"That is true, Captain. That is very true."

The Elvenking cut himself a slice, and ate as Tauriel reported what she had seen during her almost-eighteen hour leave from the Palace. Once both had finished their meals, Thranduil rose and made to leave, but Tauriel halted him.

"My lord," She said, "You said that you bake when you are troubled. What was bothering you?"

Thranduil turned to look at her. "I was worried when I started. Now, I am not."

"Why, may I ask?"

The Elvenking's only response was to reach out and brush a crumb from the corner of the Silvan Elf's mouth. Then he padded silently from the kitchens, leaving Tauriel wondering if what she suspected was true.

**A/N: So I ran this past my sister (She's the only one in my family I let read my stories, lol) and she didn't really understand, so here's what I was going for: Thrandy is stress-baking because Tauriel has been out for hours and hours, and he's worried something has happened. There. Got it naow? :D**


	2. Chapter 2 - Fire Moon

**A/N: Dear Lord, these guys are hard to write for. *glares at multiple failed attempts* But whatever. Once I think up something, I can generally just roll with it, but it's the actual coming up with a setting that gets annoying T_T**

**Sooo...apparently people like this ship, so I'm going to keep on. Also, I haven't given up on ****_My Name-_****just a bit of writer's block coming on :P Aside from that, enjoy! :D**

_"__I saw a Fire Moon once. It rose over the pass near Dunland, huge!"_

Tauriel replayed Kili's words to her over and over again in her mind. The Elf sat in the high boughs of a great spreading sycamore, gazing out over the forest of Mirkwood. In the distance, the silhouette of the Lonely Mountain spiked the sky, no longer a place of foreboding evil, but once more like a protective mother standing over her kin as it had been so long ago. The last rays of the sun were fading from its snow-covered slopes, while the crest of the Fire Moon peeked over the hills.

The Silvan Elf swung her feet absently, hardly noticing the forty-meter drop to the forest floor. The crisp spring breeze whipped her rust-colored hair about her face, ruffling the newly-grown foliage. She wondered what Kili would do if he were here. Would he crack jokes and flirt with her, the way he behaved around his Dwarven kin? Or would he reach over and interlace his fingers with hers as, they watched the Fire Moon shedding its scarlet light over Mirkwood and the Lonely Mountain.

Tauriel suddenly flinched, tensing her leg muscles to stay her balance as harsh reality hit her in the gut. Kili was dead—slain by the filth that once dared to call themselves Elves. His name had passed into the legends of the Mountain folk, but that did not help to ease her pain. Legolas was gone as well—in search of the one Thranduil had called Strider. She would likely never see him again.

The Silvan Elf's vision began to grow blurry. She wondered for a moment if she was going blind, then she felt the warm wetness on her cheek. She swiftly reached up and swiped it away. It wouldn't be any good if one of those under her command happened to join her, as they sometimes did, to see her crying over someone she was not even supposed to care about, let alone love.

The Lonely Mountain was now a stark black spike in the midst of the enormous Fire Moon. Tauriel was too far away to see the Long Lake, but she wondered what it would look like, with a thousand rubies dancing on the surface. The image brought back a memory of a time when the Lake had shone and burned, the pines roaring on the height like blazing torches, but Tauriel swiftly pushed that thought aside.

"Enjoying yourself, Captain?"

Tauriel managed not to topple from her perch at the voice next to her, but only just. She looked over and saw her King sitting next to her on the branch, gazing out over the forest.

"Not particularly, my lord." The Silvan Elf admitted, not even bothering to wonder how the silver-haired Elf could be so silent. He had over three thousand years of experience on his side.

"Oh?" Thranduil inquired. "And why, on such a night as this, is my Captain of the Guard not admiring the first Fire Moon in decades?"

Tauriel studied her King from the corner of her eye as she considered her answer. He wasn't wearing his crown—unusual, for him—and was wearing a simple loose white shirt and dark trousers. He also had a light green cloak thrown over his shoulders, almost as an afterthought. If not for his natural air of majesty, he could have almost been mistaken for a farmer or one of low rank. His white hair spilled over his shoulders as he swung his bare feet like a small child, piercing blue eyes turned maroon by the light of the rising moon.

"I was…thinking about lost ones." Tauriel said at last. Thranduil nodded slightly, as though his suspicion had been concerned.

"As was I, Captain." He replied. "I once sat on this very bough when I was a youth, with the most beautiful of Elven-maids at my side. We watched the last light of Durin's Day illuminate the Mountain, and the lights that danced across the Lake throughout the night."

Tauriel was slightly puzzled at this. From this point, on Durin's day, the trees would be even more thickly canopied than they were now, obscuring the Lake. Thranduil seemed to sense her bewilderment, as he gave the barest exhale of a chuckle.

"You must remember, Mirkwood was not always like this. Long ago in the Second Age, the Greenwod was much smaller. That was before…before this."

He flicked his head in the direction of the South—to Dol Guldur, and the spawning place of darkness.

"I understand, lord." Tauriel murmured. She sat in silence for a few minutes, debating on whether or not to speak her mind. Finally, she gathered up her courage.

"What will you do now, my lord?" She inquired. "Your pledged and your son are both gone. One to the next life, and one to search for the Strider. I am wondering…how will you get along, with no kin to confide in?"

The Silvan Elf bit her lip as she stared at the paling moon, hoping she hadn't struck a nerve with her King.

Thranduil considered this for a few moments, as Tauriel braced herself for a tongue-lashing. Then the Silvan Elf felt a warmth covering her hand on the bough. She glanced down and saw that the silver-haired Elf had encased her small hand in his large one. She looked up at him in bewilderment.

"My lord?" She inquired. Thranduil turned to look at her, his glacier-like eyes boring right through her.

"Tauriel," He said softly, "In this time of unrest, I would value your company. I do not wish for it to be intimate—even in death, my pledged is still my pledged—but right now, you are worth more to me than the King's Jewel itself."

Tauriel was shocked by this statement. To think that she—a lowly Silvan Elf who had a reputation for disobeying orders—was worth more to him than the coveted Arkenstone, was beyond belief.

"M-my lord," She stammered, unable to comprehend what he was saying. Thranduil tilted his head slightly, his hand still covering hers.

"I-I am honored," She managed at last. "I…yes. I too seek the company of one who has suffered the same grief as me in the past winter. Thank you, my lord."

Then, for the first time that Tauriel had ever seen, a gentle smile of pure happiness tilted the corners of Thranduil's mouth upward, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. The Silvan Elf decided instantly that it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever had the honor to be witness to.

"I thank you, Captain." Thranduil told her. He leaned forwards and pressed his lips to her cheek gently, before sliding from the branch to leap from bough to bough in the dim light, back towards the Palace. Tauriel sat for a few moments longer in stunned silence, before following.

**A/N: I'm making an educated guess in saying that the Lonely Mountain was under Dwarven rule in the Second Age-for you Middle-Earth historians, please don't kill me if I get something wrong -_-**


	3. Chapter 3 - Sanctuary

**A/N: I know I said this at the start of the last chapter, but...holy cow. I nearly put myself to sleep writing this story. It's Friday night here, and good gosh, am I tired. Well, whatever. This was one of those things that started out as a failed attempt, but I managed to finish when I finally thought up a plot. Also, I couldn't resist throwing in a ****_Hunchback og Notre Dame _****reference, so if you catch it, you may have one virtual cookie from me. Anyway, enjoy! :D**

_Southern Mirkwood, two leagues from Dol Guldur…_

She couldn't see or hear anything—only register pain. She knew the poison was in her blood, and that she would choke on it, dying a painful and horrible death. The spider had come out of nowhere, attacking them. It had been foolish to go so close to the spawning ground of the creatures, and yet she had been so distracted by the presence of the one she had been out with.

She became aware of something nudging against the tide of poison—a soft, cool sensation against the fire boiling through her veins. The venom slowed in its race to her heart, then began to dissolve under an extremely powerful wave of what must have been Elven healing magic. Tauriel began to register a voice—familiar, powerful, soothing.

_"__Menno o nin na hon i eliad annen annin; hon leitho o-ngurth…"_

The very same words she had used on Kili to remove the Morgul venom from his body. The memory brought back a wave of emotion so strong that her eyes flew open.

"Tauriel!" Blue eyes surrounded by a pale face hovered over her. The Silvan Elf tried to speak, but her throat felt like sand.

"Shh, don't speak." The Elvenking shushed her gently. "The poison came very close to your heart. You nearly died."

The pale-haired Elf moved out of her field of vision. Tauriel strained to figure out where she was—someplace in Mirkwood, for sure, but exactly where, she wasn't sure. She heard a high, drawn-out, whistling cry that signaled Thranduil's enormous Elk nearby. The Elvenking reappeared, slipping an arm under her shoulders and lifting her up slightly, before holding a flask to her lips.

"Drink," He ordered. Tauriel managed to down several gulps of the water, though it hurt to swallow. Thranduil laid her back down, and the Silvan Elf managed to muster the strength to turn her head and watch him. He removed his robe and wrapped it around her, before scooping her up and placing her on the back of the huge Elk. The beast squealed as Thranduil murmured to it for a moment, before hoisting himself up behind Tauriel.

The Silvan Elf managed to push herself into a sitting position as Thranduil chirped the Elk into a swift canter. The deer thundered through the trees, using expert flicks of its head to avoid knocking its impressive crown of antlers on the forest giants.

"How long was I out?" Tauriel managed, as Thranduil's hand settled on her shoulder to keep her steady.

"About one hour," The Elvenking informed her. "I apologize for delaying with the healing process; I had to get you farther from Dol Guldur."

"'S alright," The Silvan Elf mumbled, still dazed, even more so by the bounce and jostle of the Elk. They rode in silence after that, the only noise being the monotonous beat of the Elk's hooves on the ground, and the swish of misplaced air.

"I must thank you, Captain Tauriel." Thranduil told her, breaking the silence.

"Hm?"

"Had you not intervened, I would be in your predicament right now." The Elvenking explained. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, my—" Tauriel began, but caught a sour stench in the undergrowth. Hissing sounded, all around them.

"More spiders!" Thranduil cursed in Elvish, and kicked the Elk into a flat-out run. Tauriel held on for dear life as the beast streaked through the trees. In the foliage above her, she could hear hissing and spitting—the language of the spiders, calling to their kin. Thranduil kept himself and the Silvan Elf hunched as far over the saddle as they could manage, as the Elvenking rested a hand on his sword hilt.

"There!" Cried Tauriel, pointing ahead. What looked to be a fortified homestead loomed ahead, a curl of smoke rising from the chimney.

"That is the dwelling of Radagast the Brown," Thranduil said. "If the spiders so choose, it will not hold against their number!"

"We have to try!" Tauriel insisted. Thranduil pulled the Elk to a halt a few at the edge of the clearing, slid off, and gathered up Tauriel. He slapped the Elk's rump, and it squealed before bounding away to be swiftly lost in the forest.

"It can take care of itself," He growled, before hurrying towards the wooden homestead. There was a hissing and chattering behind them, and Tauriel peered over Thranduil's shoulder to see three spiders scuttling out of the trees about twenty meters away.

"My lord, hurry!" She urged. The Elvenking adjusted his grip on her as he raced across the clearing. The spiders were scuttling after them with alarming speed. Thranduil reached the gate and pounded on it, hard.

"Sanctuary! Please give us sanctuary!" He shouted, his fist making the door shake in its frame. Tauriel was pushed against the wood, her whole weight being balanced precariously on one of the Elvenking's arms. She looked back and saw the spiders closing in, mandibles clacking and frothing with deadly venom. Thranduil swiftly glanced back and swore in Elvish, teeth bared in pure frustration. He couldn't defeat them and look after her at the same time.

"Tauriel," Thranduil said, curling over her as he shielded her from the spiders with his body, "If we should die this day, there is one thing I wish to tell you—"

The doorknob rattled and swung open, sending both Elves spilling into the house.

"Quickly, inside!" A voice urged. Thranduil scrambled to his feet and dragged the Silvan Elf rather unceremoniously further into the dwelling. The first of the spiders lunged with a harsh shriek, only to slam mandibles-first into the door, which had swiftly been shut in its face.

"Lord Thranduil!" The voice exclaimed. The Elvenking stooped next to Tauriel, while peering up at their savior. It was a rather elderly man clad in a ragtag robe that seemed to have every herb and grass in Mirkwood woven into it. He had a long scruffy beard below piercing eyes, but his frumpy appearance didn't fool the silver-haired Elf one bit.

"Master Radagast," He said, bowing his head slightly. "I must thank you."

"No trouble at all, lord!" The wizard said cheerily. "I say, what are you doing this far South? You're scores of leagues from your home."

"I was out on a ride with the Captain," The Elf replied. "It was my fault. I lost track of the leagues. I did not know we were so close to Dol Guldur. I should have sensed it, but I did not until it was too late. Captain Tauriel was bitten by one of those foul creatures. I managed to remove most of the venom, but I suspect that some remains."

"That so?" Radagast stroked his beard. "What do you think, missy?"

Tauriel nodded, feeling the remnants of the poison stinging her blood.

"Aye, Master Radagast. I can feel it."

"Right! Let's see what I can do about that!" The wizard replied, offering the Elf a hand and pulling her to her feet. Radagast sat her down at a heavy wooden table, and began rummaging in a trunk, muttering to himself as he tossed aside various pouches of Ilúvatar-knew-what. Finally, he pulled out a bundle of rather unimpressive-looking leaves.

"This ought to do the trick!" He said. Tauriel peeled off her tunic, exposing the still-swollen puncture wounds at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Radagast lost no time in smashing the leaves into a pulp, and pressing them into the wounds. Tauriel flinched, as the leaves stung almost worse than the poison, but the wizard began murmuring in his own tongue, and the pain subsided. The Silvan Elf sighed with relief as the venom dissolved entirely. All the while, Thranduil had been watching with just a hint of visible anxiousness, but he too relaxed as he saw Tauriel's expression of relief.

"Thank you, Master Radagast." The She-Elf said, rising and bowing slightly. The wizard touched the brim of his hat to her.

"Anytime, my lady. And please, call me Radagast. No need for formalities here."

Tauriel allowed him one of her rare smiles as she pulled her tunic back over her head. Thranduil bowed respectfully, before turning with a frown to where the spiders were still scratching at the door.

"It will take at least a day and a night to return to the Palace," He calculated. "That is assuming we travel on foot, spare little rest, do not recover my Elk, with frequent stops to fend off the spiders that will most certainly be pursuing us."

"Your Majesty wouldn't be foolish enough to attempt that journey now, with the lady still recovering?" Radagast inquired. "It would be my honor if you would stay the night. After all, it's nearly tea-time! Rest your tired bodies; you can push yourselves as much as you like in the morning."

The thought of a warm supper and rest was enough to make Tauriel's limbs even heavier. She glanced imploringly at Thranduil as he considered.

"Very well," He decided. "Perhaps the spiders will give up in the night. A good sleep will do us both good, wouldn't you agree, Captain?"

"Yes, lord," Tauriel replied gratefully.

-ooo-

At last, just as the moon was rising, Tauriel noticed the hissing and spitting of the spiders had faded. Given up, or simply retreating for the night, she didn't know. But she was just grateful that their unsettling curses against the Fair Folk were gone.

"I thank you again, Radagast," The Silvan Elf told the wizard as he carried an armload of blankets to the big four-poster bed.

"No trouble, m'lady," He replied cheerfully. "Don't you worry about using the bed—I usually sleep in the armchair, anyway. Saves some stress on these old bones."

He chuckled as Tauriel pulled off her boots and settled down. The furs were soft and fluffy—obviously very old, but still softer than almost anything in the Elven Kingdom. The Elf lay back, weariness suddenly washing over like a wave breaking over the Western shores. Within minutes, she was asleep.

Thranduil glanced over from his seat by the fire. As Radagast lit his pipe and settled in his armchair, the Elvenking rose and padded silently to the bedside. He leaned down, and gently brushing a few rust-hued hairs from the Silvan Elf's face, pressed his lips lightly to her forehead before retreating quietly back to the fire to share thoughts on the future of the Greenwood and Middle-Earth.

**A/N: For those of you who may be wondering "OMG WAZ SHE NAKERS?!1!" Is answer to your question, probably not. I would assume the Elves wear some sort of sleeveless shirt under those tunics, but then again, I'm no expert on Elves. Anyway, I doubt Thranduil and Radagast would care much either way. I've noticed that it's usually only the Humans in Tolkein's books that actually have some sort of negative reaction to someone with no clothes on. Alright, I'm going to shut up before this gets awkward. Live long and prosper, and bai!**


	4. Chapter 4 - The Madness of the Elvenking

**Greetings, my minions! Apologies for the wait, but I felt that this concept was worthy of some good thinking about to make it sound good :D Since this is a oneshot, I tried to keep it rather short, but I might expand on this idea sometime in the future. Maybe. Also, if anyone gets the Doctor Who reference, kudos! Enjoy!**

_It is the gems! They are drawn to the pureness like vultures over a dying beast!_

Tauriel crouched in the shadow of one of the huge columns that dominated the interior of the Lonely Mountain. Her King's words still rang in her ears, though the Elvenking had long since departed to tread lightly among the heaps of dazzling white stone that had been isolated into one area among the gold. Ever since Thranduil had conquered the Mountain, betraying the Human they called Bard and slaughtering the last of the line of Durin, he had changed. A sickness had come over him—an insatiable greed for the pure gems that lay like tiny flecks of starlight among the acres of gold.

The Rivendell Elves had been informed of the Elvenking's madness, and Elrond himself had made the journey to speak with Thranduil. He had received a hostile welcome from the silver-haired Elf, and had left with no success. Thranduil had ranted over how the Elves of Rivendell were plotting to steal his treasure, and usurp his new throne under the Mountain.

Tauriel was scared of her King—not intimidated, as was usually the case just by his mere presence, but absolutely terrified of the silver-haired Elf. To him, she was the only Elf save perhaps the absent Legolas whom the King would allow to speak to him other than reporting and obeying orders.

"Tauriel!"

The Silvan Elf jumped at her name being called. She got to her feet and slowly peered from the shadow of the column. The Elvenking was standing in all his terrifying power, ankle-deep in gold objects. For all he cared, anything that was not pure white could go to the crows.

"Yes, my lord?" Tauriel inquired, approaching cautiously and bowing slightly. She couldn't make herself meet Thranduil's eyes—the usual serene crystalline color was now as wild as the raging Forest River that flowed past the Kingdom of Mirkwood. Yet even in sickness, they still did not fail to miss the slightest details.

"You are afraid," He noted. "Why?"

Tauriel's mind raced at this question. Should she tell the truth and risk his wrath, or take the smoothest course? Her mind didn't feel like dealing with an angry Elvenking at the moment, so she replied,

"New surroundings, lord. It is taking some time to get used to, and this place still smells of Dragon-stench."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. He could tell she was lying, Tauriel was sure of it. He stepped forwards, and the Silvan Elf had to force herself not to flinch away as he stood over her. His nostrils flared slightly as he inhaled. She probably reeked of fear-scent, Tauriel thought, and Thranduil would be able to smell it on her easily.

"Come," He said at last, "Walk with me."

Tauriel obliged somewhat reluctantly, and she and the Elvenking began winding their way through the massive hills of precious metal. The Silvan Elf was racing to think of how to respond to her King should he ask any more questions of her, as the slightest misstep could cost her life.

"Tell me," The Elvenking said, snapping Tauriel from her thoughts, "Why are you afraid?"

He just wasn't going to let that go, was he? Tauriel thought irritably. What did it matter if she was afraid? It wasn't like he could do anything about it in his current state. But she took a swift, calming breath, and decided to be honest.

"It is you, my lord." She told him. This remark actually made Thranduil stop in his tracks. He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised expectantly, but Tauriel could see the storm starting to brew in his gaze.

"Go on," He urged, his voice a savage command.

"Ever since you took the Mountain and reclaimed the white gems you wanted, I fear the Dragon's influence has not completely vanished from this place." Tauriel said. Thranduil's head tilted slightly, though the Silvan Elf could tell he was growing furious.

"And?" He growled.

"And, my lord, you're changing. Your greed is blinding you." Tauriel went on, slowly putting distance between herself and the silver-haired Elf, hoping desperately she could make him see what he was becoming before he attacked her or worse.

"You are falling under the same spell that imprisoned Thrain—the very lust for gold that you warned him of. If you don't snap out of it soon, you will become like the Dwarf King, and you saw for yourself what became of the kingdom once its ruler fell under the spell. I implore you—"

"_Enough!" _Thranduil bellowed. "You dare to doubt my wisdom! I will not stand here and be lectured by a lowly Silvan Elf! You will do well to cease talking, or I will shut your mouth for you! I will not have my honor—"

"Honor!" Tauriel burst out, her anger at his stubbornness getting the better of her. "How can you speak of honor?! The Bowman who slew the Beast—how did you repay him? By betraying him? And the line of Durin—you slaughtered Thorin, and drove his kin into the forest! I may be a lowly Silvan Elf, but I do not lack honor! I was right about you—there is no love, nor honor, nor emotion in you! I am wondering what your pledged was thinking when she accepted your vow! She must have been completely—"

Before Tauriel could finish her rant, she felt cold steel against her throat, and rough stone against her back. The silver-haired Elf had lunged, slamming her against the nearest pillar, and the frigid edge of his sword was resting against her delicate throat. The Elvenking's teeth were bared, and his pupils were dilated in fury until his eyes were almost black.

"I will take insults to my character," He snarled, spittle raining upon Tauriel's brow, "I will take insults to my rule, but you _do not ever _insult my pledged."

Tauriel gasped as she saw his face—the pale skin on the left side of his cheek and jaw was gone, replaced by raw muscle and sinew, and even that was patched in placed so that she could see straight through to his teeth and gums. His left eye was milky and sightless, the skin around it raw and red.

"What happened to your face?" The Silvan Elf cried in horror. The Elvenking bared his teeth, eliciting a cry of fear from Tauriel as the hideous mass of muscle contorted.

"It is not my so-called sickness that you fear," Thranduil growled, a slight smile tugging at his lips, "It is this! I have proven my honor fivescore times in the Second Age, long before you were even a thought in your mother's mind! The great Serpents of the far North did this to me—not the cold drakes, but the children of Glaurung himself! And you say that I have no honor, and that I am no more than a backstabbing coward."

"You are no better than Smaug!" Tauriel shouted in his face, pushing down her fear and replacing it with anger. "You slew Thorin, and betrayed the very one who removed the stench of Dragon from this land! Can you not see?! If you are going to rule this Mountain, you must at least give the Lake folk their share of the treasure! They have been on their own for weeks now, while you sit in here with the Elven Army, and live on the provisions of the Dwarves!"

This statement caused Thranduil to press his sword even tighter to the Silvan Elf's throat.

"I will not part with a _single_ gem!" He hissed savagely. "_Not one piece of it!"_

Tauriel wondered if he knew she was talking about the gold, and not the white jewels. Probably not.

"Those miserable Humans are not worthy of the starlight of Elves!" Thranduil went on. "The day will come when they will arrive at the Mountain from all corners of the land, seeking the treasure, but I can tell you that they will not find it unguarded! Should the Great Eye himself come here, he will discover that we Elves have outlived his kind since the First Age!"

Tauriel gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to call him some choice names. Instead, and reached up and slapped his scarred face, hard. He recoiled, roaring in pain, his sword ringing upon the gold as he dropped both it and Tauriel. In his moment of incapacitation, the Silvan Elf took the opportunity to dart behind him. Perhaps she could subdue him long enough to try talking some sense into him. She leaped upon the Elvenking's broad back, wrapping her right arm around his neck and locking it there with her left. The silver-haired Elf bellowed in pain and anger, flinging her about as he tried to dislodge her. Tauriel's teeth rattled as the Elvenking tried to shake her, spinning and bucking. Finally, Thranduil caught sight of a ledge created by the architecture of the cave—the gold dropped off sharply to more of the precious metal about two meters below.

Thranduil flung himself off the edge with a powerful leap, and Tauriel's world turned upside-down. Her back slammed into the gold-covered floor, the Elvenking's weight landing heavily upon her chest. Her ribcage went _crack, _and pain exploded in her chest as the silver-haired Elf heaved himself upright. Tauriel was disoriented and in agony, so she offered no resistance as Thranduil reached down to grip her by the throat, hauling her up to his eye level. Her feet dangling several inches off the ground, the Silvan Elf struggled weakly as Thranduil's powerful hands choked the breath from her.

"A dog such as you does not deserve such a swift death," He snarled into her face, his wild eyes flashing blue fire. "The vultures will feed on your carcass, and all will know what happens to those who trifle with the King Under the Mountain!"

Tauriel's ears were ringing as her vision started to go black. She gripped Thranduil's hands and managed to gasp out,

_"__Amin mela lle, heru," _She choked, before her eyes fluttered shut, and she went limp.

Thranduil froze at her words. He dropped Tauriel, his hideously scarred face once again becoming masked by magic. His eyes regain their clear crystalline hue, as the spell's grip on him shattered. A firestorm of confusion and horror ignited within him as he knelt at the Silvan Elf's side, feeling her pulse in a frantic search for life. What had he done?

After what seemed like an eternity, though it had only been mere minutes, Tauriel's eyes opened fractionally. Thranduil felt a surge of relief, combined with crushing guilt. Whatever insanity that had overcome him, it was unlikely she would ever trust him again.

"Tauriel?" He inquired softly. Her head rolled towards the sound of his voice, though her eyes were still half-closed. She tried to speak, but only managed a faint huff of breath and a slight wheeze. The Elvenking shushed her gently, unclasping his flask of water from his belt.

"Shh, don't speak," He told her, brushing some stray hairs from her face. "You—I—I almost—"

He had to halt, as his voice cracked slightly. Tauriel managed to lift her arm, and covered the Elvenking's hand with hers. A voiceless measure of forgiveness. Thranduil felt hot tears brimming in his eyes, but he blinked rebelliously, reminded of another time long ago when a beautiful Elven-maid had been slain at Gundabad, and he had been powerless to stop it.

The Elvenking bit his lip hard, and pushed his emotions aside to deal with later. Tauriel needed his help.

Thranduil slid an arm under her shoulders and lifted her head slightly, before holding the flask to her lips. Tauriel managed to down several swallows, before wincing and laying back. The Elvenking probed her ribs gently, eliciting a grimace from the She-Elf. Thranduil decided that she wouldn't be able to move for at least a day. The Dragon-sickness had sapped his strength, rendering his healing magic temporarily useless, but the Elvenking removed his robe and spread it over the gold, gently laying Tauriel on it in an attempt to make her comfortable.

"You will be alright, _mela," _He murmured to her. "'Sorry' does not come within tenscore leagues of expressing my regret at my actions. We will leave this Mountain, and go home to the Greenwood. The Lake folk shall be given fivescore their compensation, and Erebor will once again be under Dwarven rule. Rest now, my warrior. Your hardship is over. _Amin mela lle."_

With that, the King of the Woodland Elves curled up next to his Captain of the Guard. The sickness had overcome him, but one She-Elf had possessed the courage to confront him and declare _no more. _Thranduil decided that he had never been so grateful to any living being, as he allowed sleep to sweep over his exhausted body.

**Ooh, what did they say in Elvish? I'll give you a hint: What did Tentoo tell Rose at Bad Wolf Bay? Also, I apologize if the Elvish is inaccurate-that's me using a translator and in reality knowing literally nothing about the language ^_^'**


	5. Chapter 5 - Mood Swings

"Captain Tauriel?"

Thranduil knocked softly on the door of the Captain of the Guard's quarters.

"Are you alright?"

"Go 'way!" Came the muffled response. "Do not bother me!"

The Elvenking raised an eyebrow. "It is almost midday, Captain. Are you ill?"

"Whoever that is, just leave me alone! I am fine!"

"You do not sound fine," Thranduil said, leaning on the doorframe and crossing his arms. "What is the matter?"

He heard a muffled groan of exasperation, and the sound of footsteps. Tauriel opened the door, looking quite disgruntled. Her flame-colored hair was still in its messy braid, and she hadn't changed out of her nightclothes—a simple gray tunic and crop pants. She registered a flicker of surprise at the presence of her King, but it was swiftly replaced by annoyance.

"What do you want, my lord?" She asked. She sounded like she was trying very hard not to tell him to sod off.

"It is almost midday," Thranduil said again. "You have not left your room all morning. Is something wrong?"

Tauriel looked about to respond, but she winced, her hand going to her midriff. She gritted her teeth, and managed,

"It is nothing, lord. It will pass in a few days."

So that was it, Thranduil realized. The Silvan Elf was experiencing her moon cycle. He remembered how his pledged had come very close to attacking him on several occasions, due to the frequent mood swings this event brought on.

"Are you not hungry?" The Elvenking inquired. Tauriel scowled at him.

"No!"

She went to slam the door in his face, but the silver-haired Elf planted his boot in the way, blocking the door from closing. Tauriel huffed and gave up, storming back to her bed and flinging herself upon it. Thranduil entered, and noticed immediately how cold it was. The hearth fire had died to mere embers. The Elvenking stoked it up as Tauriel glared at him from the bed. He could tell by her body language that she was in a good deal of pain, and that she was extremely restless, wanting to do anything and everything, but at the same time not wanting to budge from her place.

"Just leave me alone," The Silvan Elf grumbled, wrapping herself in a blanket and curling into a ball. "I am fine, lord. I do not need anything."

Just then Tauriel's stomach decided to loudly remind her that it hadn't eaten in almost eighteen hours. Thranduil raised an eyebrow, a slight smile of amusement crossing his features.

"You said you were not hungry," He reminded her.

"I'm not!" She snapped. "Go away, and leave me be!"

The Elvenking ignored her protests.

"I am going to make you a pie," He decided. "And you will eat it. That is an order, Captain. I cannot have my subjects starving themselves."

The Silvan Elf looked about ready to argue, but gave up.

"Very well." She grumbled, wincing as pain lanced through her abdomen.

"I will be back in a little while, _mela." _Thranduil told her, heading for the door. "You just lie still."

As cranky as Tauriel was at the moment, she couldn't help but feel a slight sense of gratitude. Thranduil had probably had this issue many times before with his pledged. The Silvan Elf narrowed her eyes, as her insides felt as though they were being gnawed on by a rabid Warg. The only thing she could do was to lie perfectly still, and hope she wouldn't accidently move and make the pain that much worse.

After the better part of an hour, Thranduil returned at last. Tauriel had been dozing lightly and flinched at his unexpected knock. The movement caused her just-settled insides to tighten again, and the Silvan Elf had to hold herself back from spitting curses.

"Yes?" She managed to grit out. The Elvenking entered, balancing the small pie on one hand and gripping two flasks in the other.

"I brought you some dandelion cordial to help calm your stomach," He informed her, setting the plate and one of the flasks on the bedside table. Tauriel managed to push herself halfway into a sitting position.

"You do not have to do this, lord," She told him. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"I find your argument strewn with gaping defects in logic." The Elvenking replied. "You say that you are capable of caring for yourself, and yet you did not come to breakfast, and have not emerged from your room all morning. Eat."

The Silvan Elf sighed and took the plate. Thranduil tossed more wood chips on hearth fire as she ate, then took his own flask and sat on the edge of the bed.

"How long have the pains been affecting you?" He inquired. Tauriel swallowed her food before replying.

"About three days, lord," She told him. "Getting progressively worse until I could barely move this morning. They should last for another day and night, then begin to lessen. That is how the cycle normally takes place."

The Elvenking nodded, taking a sip of his drink. Tauriel placed the warm plate on her stomach, hoping to ease the ache.

"Thank you, lord," She told him. "I am sure you have had to deal with this many times before. I am glad of your patience."

"Indeed," Thranduil agreed, the ghost of a smile crossing his face. "I know that it is a normal part of female life. However, I will never pretend to understand your behavior during this time."

This comment was enough to elicit a laugh from the Silvan Elf.

"Neither will I, lord," She chuckled, taking another bite of pie. It was her favorite—with arrowroot and partridge and wild celery.

"If you may excuse me," The Elvenking said, rising, "I have duties. My apologies."

"No trouble, lord." Tauriel replied. "I may feel up to going out this afternoon."

"If you do not, it is fine." Thranduil told her. He rested a hand on her shoulder briefly, before padding softly from the room, leaving Tauriel to enjoy her.

**Soo...you can probably guess why I wrote a chapter on this particular subject. ANYWAYS, I now have nine Word documents dedicated to these little things, although these are the only ones that are publishable at the moment T_T**


	6. Chapter 6 - Night Terrors

**A/N: Rereading The Fellowship of the Ring brought this one on-after thoroughly soaking in The Hobbit, I think I'll have an easier time than I did before :D**

Tauriel scowled as she peered down through the branches of a great spreading ash tree. There was a distinct aura of evil floating through the night-dark forest, and the Silvan Elf was bound and determined to find the source, be it Orcs or Wargs or Spiders.

The She-Elf leaped light-footed through the branches, landing gracefully on a thick beech bough. Keeping her dagger ready, she dropped to the ground, sensing movement in a clearing ahead.

Tauriel paused at the edge, slightly confused. A large horse was grazing at the far edge of the grass, so black that it was nearly invisible against the dark forest background.

The Silvan Elf felt fear fluttering in her belly for no apparent reason, but she shoved it down and advanced. In the center of the clearing was a black-robed figure, stooped over the grass as though studying something on the ground.

Tauriel suddenly got the impression that she was being watched by multiple pairs of unfriendly eyes. She paused and looked all around, but saw nothing and continued warily. The aura of fear and evil grew stronger as she got closer, finally stepping out of the trees and onto the grass.

"Who goes there?" She demanded. The black-robed figure straightened slowly, and regarded her. Tauriel strained to see any sort of face under the obsidian hood, but its features were engulfed in shadow.

"Be you friend or foe that walks upon the Elvenking's land?" The She-Elf asked again, though she thought she already knew the answer.

The robed figure's hood tilted ever so slightly, then it stepped forwards. Tauriel raised her dagger, but the thing's gauntlet-clad hands remained relaxed at its sides as it approached.

Finally when it was less than a meter away from her, it spoke. Its voice might have been male once, but it had faded to an ethereal hiss, like wind coming from a deep cave.

_"__I seek the Hobbit called Baggins," _it said. Tauriel could feel its exhaled breath upon her face, but could still make out no features under the shadow of the hood. Her mind raced as she tried to think of what this thing could be. Its behavior was, for all intents and purposes, uncannily like that of a Man. Then Tauriel remembered the eyes watching her, the complete covering of the body, and absence of any facial features. Her heartrate increased even more as horrible realization crept over her, and the line from an ancient script flashed through her mind.

_Nine for mortal Men doomed to die._

Tauriel barely had time to register that she was now in grave danger, before the thing spoke once more.

_"__I seek the one known as Baggins," _The thing hissed again, more insistent this time. Tauriel swallowed hard, and tried to breathe evenly before she made herself pass out.

"N-no," She stammered, trying to sound confident, but it came out as more of a squeak. "I h-haven't seen anyone called Baggins in recent days."

The thing hissed slightly, obviously disappointed. Before Tauriel could stop herself, she asked,

"Are you a Ring-Bearer?"

The creature, who had just been starting to turn away, froze. The Elf raised her dagger, as she could sense the other pairs of eyes growing closer. Tauriel, panic bubbling in her chest, slashed wildly with her dagger. The blade cleaved across where the throat should have been, shredding the fabric, but Tauriel couldn't tell if she had done any real damage. The black-clad figure lurched back with a harsh screech, robes swirling.

Tauriel's blade began to burn against her hand, and she was forced to drop it. She watched in horror as the steel dissolved into ash upon the grass and loam. The Elf stumbled backwards, but her back hit something and she felt the hiss of exhaled breath on the top of her head. She whirled to see several more of the dark things had emerged from the trees during the exchange, and were blocking the way into the forest.

Weaponless and surrounded, Tauriel felt the overwhelming fear starting to get the better of her, but she tried to force it down. She was one of the Fair Folk, the exact opposite of these things. She could get out of this.

"Who are you?" She demanded. "Why do you want a Hobbit?"

The figure she had slashed turned back to her. The fabric of its robe was torn, but the creature itself didn't seem to have taken any damage at all from the strike. Instead of answering, it looked over the Elf's head to its comrades. They seemed to have a momentary, silent conversation, before the thing turned its attention back to Tauriel.

Before she could react, it flew at her, seizing her jaw painfully hard in its gauntleted hand. Tauriel gave a muffled cry and started to thrash, but the thing ignored her struggles. Its hood tilted slightly, regarding her as it drew a long silver dagger from the folds of its cloak. The blade gleamed unnaturally in the moonlight. Tauriel didn't know what it was, but she knew she didn't want it touching her, so she struggled all the harder.

The creature disregarded her struggles, and raised the blade, aiming to pierce her heart. Tauriel was frantic, but no amount of kicking or thrashing could dislodge the thing's iron grip on her. She closed her eyes and waited for the sting of the blade.

Then there came multiple noises like a snake's hiss, and a sharp, loud _thwack, thwack. _One of the robed creatures behind Tauriel screeched, followed by the alarmed cries of its brethren. The Elf found herself dumped unceremoniously on the ground, blinded suddenly and warmed by the crackle of bright flame. The robed figure rolled swiftly into the grass, extinguishing its flaming robe, and shrieked out a command to its comrades before leaping upon the back of its steed.

_"__Wil, saura onnas!" _Came a familiar voice, and the Elvenking exploded into the clearing, flanked by two of his best guards. The King of the Woodland Elves had disregarded any pretense of royalty in the presence of such foul creatures, so his dragon-scars were bare to the night. The robed figure on the horse wheeled about and thundered into the forest, screeching to its brethren. The other four creatures managed to beat out smoldering robes, lit by flaming arrows, and vanished into the night-dark trees.

"After them!" The Elvenking ordered, "Make sure that they flee from the Woodland Realm!"

As the two guards streaked in pursuit, Thranduil hurried to Tauriel, sheathing his drawn sword.

"What happened?" He demanded. Tauriel coughed the smoke from her lungs, rubbing her aching jaw.

"I do not know, lord," She replied truthfully. "Those things were wanting to know if I knew of a Hobbit named Baggins. I…I think they were Ring-Bearers, lord."

Thranduil's expression darkened, as he considered these tidings.

"Baggins," He murmured. "That is the name of the Halfling who journeyed with the company of Dwarves to Dale. He delivered the Arkenstone to us in an attempt to avoid a fight. Though I do not know why such foul creatures would seek him out."

"What are they?" Tauriel inquired, scrambling to her feet. She looked about for her dagger, but remembered that it had been destroyed.

"They are known as Ringwraiths," Thranduil said quietly, as though the forest had ears. "In Black Speech, they are called _Nazgul. _In the First Age, they were great kings among Men, before they became slaves to the Rings of Power."

He paused, almost unconsciously putting a protective arm around the She-Elf as he frowned into the forest in the direction the Nazgul had vanished.

"It is not good that they are searching Middle-Earth," He said, almost to himself. "Their Master does nothing without a reason."

Then he remembered Tauriel, and started escorting her back in the diection of the Halls.

"Come, _mela," _He told her. "You are tired. Rest some, then tell me everything. I am sure Lord Elrond will know more of what to do."

As the two made their way back to the Elvenking's halls, Thranduil's keen eyes did not fail to miss the massive bat-like shape that crossed briefly over the Moon's pale face, streaking silently but swiftly Eastward. The King said nothing, however, to Tauriel.

_Nine for mortal Men doomed to die._

**A/N: So I decided to take a different spin on this one, with an encounter between Tauriel and the Ringwraiths. I tried to make the Nazgul act at least sort of human, since they used to be men after all, but at the same time I wanted to make it clear that they're not EVEN close to a great king or whatever it was they used to be.**

**On a side note, I have a Tumblr! You'll find us under the name YatzSliversword, so feel free to send us prompts or whatever**


	7. Chapter 7 - Strange Feelings

"Captain Tauriel?"

The Silvan Elf glanced up from fletching a new bundle of arrows, after losing most of them into the innards of the Spiders.

"Yes, Elador?" She said.

"The King requests your presence," Replied the golden-haired guard. Tauriel raised an eyebrow, but didn't question why. She doubted Elador would have any answers.

"Thank you, Elador," Tauriel told her, getting to her feet and tossing the quiver onto her bed. "Tell Brisces that he will lead the evening patrol. Be sure to check on that Spider's nest two leagues up the River. Make sure they have not tried to cross the waters."

"Aye, Captain," The guard replied. Tauriel made her way through the halls, wondering what Thranduil required of her. She hadn't been on a night patrol for almost a fortnight now, after that unsettling encounter with the ones called _Nazgul. _Tauriel hated to admit it, but she was becoming rather like the Sindarin Elves in their dislike of the shadowed places. For the time being, at least. Hopefully she would get over the incident soon.

She arrived at the Elvenking's chambers, and rapped on the oak door.

"Come in," Came the response. Tauriel opened the door and stepped inside. The room was fairly large and spacious, the back wall being occupied by the bed a little to her right, and a door that probably led to the King's wardrobe. On the left wall was a nearly full bookcase, and on the right was a hearth with a dressing table next to it. The chamber was lit by the soft glow of the hearth fire, and a lantern that hung by a chain from the ceiling.

Thranduil sat cross-legged on the bed, his broad back curved over a leather-bound book, with a veritable tornado of other reading material surrounding him. He was dressed as simply as Tauriel had ever seen him, in a loose pale tunic that matched his hair, and black trousers.

"Captain," He acknowledged her. "I have been reading on the creatures you encountered, the Nazgul. They are the servants of Sauron, but the records and so old that much has been lost as to their identity."

The Silvan Elf stood respectfully by the door, hands clasped behind her back.

"Yes, Lord," She replied, "I remember hearing some of their tale long ago. Though I do not think that is why you have called me."

The Elvenking's gaze became troubled, a slight frown appearing on his fair features.

"No," He agreed. "I have had a strange feeling as of late that I cannot explain."

He got to his feet, and started taking armfuls of reading material and piling it on the dressing table.

"With all due respect, lord," Tauriel said, "I am a Captain of the Guard, not a healer. I do not think I would be the best one to consult on such matters."

Thranduil leaned on the table, silent for a few moments.

"You are correct," He admitted, "Though I think that in the current situation, you would be my best consultant."

Tauriel raised an eyebrow, slightly puzzled, but she didn't press the matter.

"This feeling you have," She inquired, "Is it a bad feeling?"

"No," Thranduil replied, "It is not bad. It is a good feeling, but strange. I do not know what to make of it. I have not felt this way since…"

He trailed off, a frown creasing his features. But Tauriel thought she understood. There was only one 'since' in the Elvenking's life.

"I think I understand, lord," The Silvan Elf said, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "You are experiencing affection towards another being."

Thranduil looked slightly irritated at this. "Do you mean to say that I have not felt in this way since before the death of my pledged, over a thousand years ago? Not even towards my own son?"

"No, not at all," Tauriel said swiftly. "What I am meaning to say is that you have been lonely for so long, and now that you are not so lonely, you do not know what to think."

Thranduil's head tilted, processing this statement. His blue eyes were fixed on her, gazing at the She-Elf so hard it was as though they would bore right through her.

"I…" He started, "…what must I do now?"

Tauriel smiled, walking up until she was standing right in front of him.

"If you so desire, you keep on feeling this affection towards whom it may concern." She told him. "No creature should stay lonely forever. I think it will be good for you."

The Elvenking's gaze was still slightly troubled, as though he were afraid the rug would be pulled out from under him, but he didn't make mention of anything.

"Thank you, _mela," _He merely stated. Tauriel got the familiar rush of warmth that accompanied his addressing her by this title, the Elvish term for _love._

"No trouble, lord." She responded, bowing her head respectfully.

The Elvenking encased her cheek in his gentle hand briefly, before moving past her to the large bookshelf that sat on the opposite wall. He began rummaging among the assorted scrolls and leather-bound texts.

"I am glad that there is at least one Elf in my kingdom that is comfortable to speak her thoughts around me." He told her. "Hundreds of Elves sullenly obeying commands becomes quite dull after a time."

Tauriel starfished in the middle of the large bed, the white Elk's fur downy and soft to her hands, then craned her neck to glare at him.

"Glad I speak my thoughts?" She repeated incredulously. "I nearly died because I spoke my thoughts to your face!"

Thranduil actually smiled briefly at this remark.

"Apologies, _mela." _He said. "I was angry. I had realized that too much Elvish blood had been spilled over gems that held no value for anyone save myself."

"Excuses…" Tauriel grumbled, though Thranduil could sense she was teasing. It was not the single fault of either one of them; both had antagonized the other, and had gotten over it at this point.

"Did you and your pledged ever argue?" Tauriel inquired. The Elvenking looked slightly surprised by this out-of-the-blue question, but he just nodded.

"Oh, yes. Many times. It would usually end up with one of us—usually myself—getting slapped. We would make up less than five minutes later."

Tauriel chuckled at this. "I would've liked to meet your pledged, lord. She sounds lovely."

"She was indeed," Thranduil murmured, a hint of sadness tinging his voice. "To my eyes, she was the fairest of any living creature in Middle-Earth. She would often laugh if I told her this, saying what a flatterer I was, but I meant it with every fiber of my being. She was also a great warrior, skilled with the sword, and would never turn from a fight."

He trailed off, remembering how this particular trait had been her death, in the far North of the Misty Mountains at Gundabad.

"But that was long ago." He said dismissively. "I know she is waiting for me when I pass over the Sea. Though that will not be for a long time yet, it still gives me some hope."

Tauriel was glad her King was comfortable enough around her to speak his thoughts, without fear of judgment. If he needed help, she was always ready to listen, and vice versa.

The Silvan Elf laced her fingers over her stomach, enjoying the feel of the Elk's fur under her. It was thick and soft, like laying on a cloud.

After a long time, the Elvenking glanced over from his readings on the history of Eriador, and noticed the She-Elf had dozed off, curled onto her side. Her fiery hair flared across the blanket like wine against snow.

The Sindarin Elf smiled slightly, retrieving the throw blanket from the base of the bed and spread it over Tauriel. She shifted slightly, but didn't wake as Thranduil went back to his reading, humming an old Elvish melody.


	8. Chapter 8 - Lord of Woodland Elk

Tauriel frowned as she looked around the empty throne dais. She had just returned from the morning patrol, and was going to report to her King. He could sometimes be found on his throne, and even though that was usually only when visitors arrived, the She-Elf always checked there first when searching for him to report.

The Silvan Elf padded along the graceful walkway that arced over a spiderweb of others like it, and into the cave systems. She checked the library, gardens, and even the Elvenking's bedroom, but found no sign of him. Slightly annoyed, Tauriel strode on a systematic search of her King.

After about a quarter of an hour, she reached the sword training arena. She heard the smack of wooden practice swords against each other, and exclamations of exertion. Tauriel stood on the stairs, wondering whether or not to see who it was. Probably just some of the younger Elves sparring to gain experience.

The She-Elf was about to turn aside, when she heard a grunt and a heavy thud, accompanied by a familiar voice.

"Clever tactic, Brisces. You tried to use my height against me by keeping low to the ground. However in doing so, you expose your back and head to enemy blades. See if you and your sister Chrysies can modify it so that one is always covering the other's back, and it should be a useful strategy in battle. Well done."

Another voice, whom Tauriel recognized as the Silvan Elf Brisces, floated from the arena.

"Thank you, your Majesty. You're a good fighter—I'm going to have some bruises after this."

The sound of the Elvenking's chuckle reached Tauriel's ears, as the footsteps of Brisces approached. Tauriel, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, ducked into the nearest corridor—the one that led down to the cellars Thankfully, Brisces headed up the way Tauriel had previously come, towards the barracks and healer's ward.

Tauriel was about to slip out of her hiding place, when she heard soft footsteps and remembered the Elvenking. The Silvan Elf hoped he would follow Brisces without noticing her, but she had no such luck. Maybe she'd made a noise, or his senses had kicked in, but either way, Thranduil's soft but distinct voice reached her ears.

"I know you are there." He stated. Tauriel could sense him standing just outside the door of the training room, staring straight towards her hiding place in the shadowed corridor. "Why do you linger in the shadows?"

Tauriel put on a nonchalant front and stepped from her place. The Elvenking was dressed in a long gray gown that reached his ankles, tied about the middle with a turquoise sash. Despite his recent spar, he was barely breathing hard.

"I was coming to report to you," She told him. At least that was true. "We encountered the river Otters of Lutra's Holt; they said they have seen Orcs less than a two leagues from here. They came over the hills from the North, and we did not spot them sooner. I dispatched a patrol to deal with them."

"A wise choice, Captain." Thranduil said. "Oh, now that you have returned, there is someone I wish to introduce you to. He arrived this morning, and I am sure he would be glad to meet you."

Tauriel, slightly puzzled, followed her King up the stairs and through the halls. Finally they emerged out of a little-used door that led to a grassy ledge situated on the side of the mountain, overlooking the river and forest. Grazing peacefully among the purple-blossomed heather was the largest Elk Tauriel had ever seen. It was at least twenty hands high at the shoulder, its impressive crown of antlers adding at least another five or six hands. On top of that, it was snowy white from bobtail to snout, and its eyes gleamed the purest blue.

"This is Snowface," Thranduil informed her, guiding her through the grass. "He has always been a friend of Elves, Men, and any other of the peaceful Mirkwood folk."

The beast lifted its head to study them as they approached. Tauriel was slightly intimidated by the sheer size of it—it looked as though it could bound up the Lonely Mountain without breaking a sweat, and smash through the ruins of Dol Guldur without a backward look.

Tauriel halted about a meter from Snowface, hesitant to get closer. The Elk stepped towards her, and Tauriel instinctively flinched back, only to bump into Thranduil. The Evenking's bulk at her back was a small comfort, and Tauriel managed to push down her jitters and reach out to the creature.

Snowface sniffed her outstretched hand, the fuzzy hairs on the end of his nose tickling slightly.

"He's very gentle," Tauriel said, as the Elk nibbled on her sleeve. Thranduil chuckled, the noise sending a tingle down the Silvan Elf's spine.

"Indeed," He agreed. "You do not want to see him when he encounters Orcs, though. His fur would run red with blood, and certainly not his."

This comment was almost enough to make Tauriel back up again, but Thranduil had no intention of letting her do that. He took her shoulders and pushed her towards Snowface with gentle hands, until she was standing right next to him. Snowface whickered, and tossed his head.

"He says that he likes you," Thranduil informed her. "He wishes you not to be afraid of him."

"S-sorry," Tauriel stammered. "He is so large that he is quite intimidating."

The Elvenking moved a little to her right, and took her small hand in his large one. He guided her fingers until they brushed the long white hairs on Snowface's shoulder, then gently pressed her palm down into the thick fur, covering it with his own.

"Not all large things have to be hostile, _mela," _Thranduil said. Tauriel could feel muscles rippling under the Elk's pelt, and the feeling made her stomach flutter, but not in a bad way. Snowface turned his head to sniff at the Silvan Elf's fiery hair, as she stood at his side.

"Why is he here?" Tauriel inquired, fluffing the thick snowy fur as the Elk lowered his head to browse among the heather once more. "Is he just dropping in?"

"Correct," The Elvenking said. "He will most likely spend a few days gathering news of the Woodland Elves, then depart from our lands to spread the goings on to the Woodmen and Beorn's folk."

Tauriel nodded. She suddenly had the urge to adorn the Elk's antlers with snowdrops, and feed it apples and sugar cubes and make it happy. She was also very aware of Thranduil inches away from her, though the Sindarin Elf had turned to look out proudly across the river to his forest.

After some time, Snowface tossed his head and squealed, startling Tauriel. The snowy Elk whickered to Thranduil, and he nodded in response.

"He says he will visit some of the lesser tribes of Elves in the forest," The Elvenking translated. "He tells you to expect to see him around, and not to fill him with arrows if you happen to encounter him."

Tauriel chuckled. "I'll warn the other guards about you, lord Snowface."

It might have been the Silvan Elf's imagination, but the Elk seemed to have a pleased expression on at the title of lord. Then he turned and bounded down the mountainside, sending a small avalanche of loose shale before him. He cleared the rushing river with a mighty leap, and was gone.

"I like him." Tauriel decided. Thranduil exhaled in the barest hint of a chuckle.

"There is scarce an Elf who does not," He told her. "In the days long past, he was known as Snowface Moneta, or 'one who warns.' The simple-minded Men called him the disaster-bearer, as whenever he appeared, desolation would follow in his wake."

"That's a lot of work for one beast," Tauriel murmured. "Is he immortal?"

"Indeed," The Elvenking agreed. "It was once known where he came from, but it has been forgotten for an age and an age."

The two stood in silence for a while, enjoying the warm noontide sun, and the whisper of the breeze through the heather.

"He reminds me of you, a little bit." Tauriel murmured. Thranduil looked down at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Is that so?" He inquired. Tauriel got the impression that he was waiting for her to explain before he decided how to react.

"Yes," The Silvan Elf replied. "Large and intimidating on the outside, but gentle on the inside. Exactly like you. Oh, and fluffy."

"Fluffy, am I?" Thranduil actually smiled at this remark. "That was not something I knew you were aware of."

Tauriel dissolved into helpless giggles at this point, leaning into the Elvenking. Thranduil thought one of the most beautiful sights he had seen in the Third Age was the face of his Captain of the Guard wreathed in smiles. The King of Woodland Elves allowed his emotional barriers to relax for the moment, and joined his Captain in laughter. Their shared delight echoed through the river basin.

**So you know that white elk that got like ten second of screen time in the DoS? Yeah I expanded on him a bit. Hopefully I didn't pull a Once-ler and ruin him by giving him things he didn't have before (in this case, a name, background etc.)**

**Also, I know Brisces is technically a girl's name. At least it is in the Iliad where I got it from. But whatever. It sounds masculine enough.**

**The next chapter will hopefully be just piles of plotless fluff, so scream suggestions in the reviews, because I have none right now! :D**

**~LLAP**


	9. Chapter 9 - Shadows in the Dark

**A/N: So this one has a bit of plot at the beginning, but it gets fluffy towards the end, so bear with me! Based on the suggestion by Lossie!**

"How are we going to get out of this one, I wonder?"

"I do not know, _mela. _Just be silent, and do not draw the attention of those foul creatures."

Tauriel resorted to fuming silently, cursing her negligence that had gotten her and her King into this mess. Tauriel had detected Orcs on the borders of the Woodland Realm, and Thranduil had decided to tag along, as it was getting dark and the Elvenking was well aware of Tauriel's dislike of shadowed places. The two had noted several figures sitting around a glowing campfire, and attacked, walking straight into a trap. The figures were nothing more than bundles of grass, wearing ragged tunics with spears propped upon them as an Orc might.

And so that had led to their current status—tied back to back out of the glow of the fire, left to sit in the cool night, having to suffer the stench of four Orcs as they laughed raucously and talked around the campfire. Tauriel understood their Black Speech to some extent, and she wished she didn't. Thranduil's warmth at her back was a small comfort in the cool night air, though the Silvan Elf's hands had gone numb from the tightness of the robes they were bound with. Her tunic had a chunk taken from the shoulder, thanks to the Orcs, and Thranduil had earned himself a nasty cut above the eye.

"So," One of the Orcs grunted, "What were those orders we got? Report to some place at some time?"

"Dunno," One of his comrades shrugged. "The Nazgul said something about a place in the deep South—can't remember the name, though. You remember, Galdrom?"

"Nazgul!" Laughed a huge, scraggly-haired Orc, who must have been Galdrom. "We've been hearing things from this Nazgul fellow, but we've never actually seen him! He must be some kind of bent-over ancient, with the wits to lead an army but not the strength. If he were to show up right now, I'd show him a taste of spear, see how tough he is, then!"

"Quiet!" One of his buddies slapped him on the shoulder. "They say the Nazgul are magic! They hear everything!"

"Hah!" Galdrom guffawed. "Magic! I've seen a lot of magic in my days, and the Nazgul is most certainly not magic! The only thing he has to his name is a pretty sword, and a horse! I ain't scared of him—one stab of this spear, and his horse would need a new rider, let me tell you!"

_"__How can you say that when you are already dead, fool?"_

A hideous voice like wind over damp stone hissed from all around them, making the hairs on Tauriel's neck stand straight up. She felt Thranduil go stiff behind her, as an aura of evil and fear permeated the night-dark forest. Heavy footsteps, most definitely not human, thudded against the loam. Something large and snakelike was gliding through the forest, weaving expertly through the trees. Tauriel and Thranduil, sitting about ten meters into the forest away from the fire, could smell the stench of the thing. The Orcs smelled it too, and gripped weapons.

"Who goes there?!" Shouted Galdrom, hefting his heavy spear. "Come out and fight!"

_"__Why should I try to engage with a dead creature?" _Came the voice, its location still unidentifiable.

"What d'you mean?!" One of the other Orcs bellowed. "Galdrom ain't dead! He's alive and kicking!"

"Yes!" Galdrom agreed. "Jasdur's right! You can see me, can't you?"

_"__You should not be speaking," _Said the thing, its tone slightly chiding. _"I have already told you that you are dead."_

Tauriel heard hissing, much closer now, and something moved forward to stand directly over the Elves. It most certainly smelled them, though it ignored them for the moment. Something huge and scaly like a tail brushed over the top of Tauriel's head, and she had to stifle a scream.

"I'll tell you again," Galdrom called, "I ain't dead!"

He stiffened suddenly, and the eyes of the three Orcs and the two Elves were fixed on the silver blade that protruded from Galdrom's midriff. It retracted with a sharp jerk, and the Orc stumbled. He managed to turn around, looking in surprise at the figure behind him as his eyes misted over.

_"__Yes, you are." _The cloaked figure said decisively, before a swift slash sent the unfortunate's head sailing into the undergrowth.

The Nazgul sheathed its sword as though nothing had happened, and turned to the remaining Orcs, addressing them.

_"__The Great Eye's forces are amassing at Isengard." _It hissed. _"You must reach there before the next day of Durin, or my fell-beast shall feast on more than just your former companion."_

The Orcs lost no time in leaping to their feet, throwing salutes and stamping out the fire, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste to be rid of the Nazgul's presence. Within minutes, the sound of their thrashing had faded into the forest.

The thing above the two Elves lunged, spraying grass and leaves everywhere as it pounced upon the body of the dead Orc. The Nazgul stepped aside as it tore into the carcass. Without the fire, Tauriel could only make out the silhouette of something huge and serpentine, like a dragon.

The hooded figure fixed its invisible gaze on Tauriel and Thranduil, regarding them coldly.

_"__Consider yourselves fortunate, Elves." _It said. _"I have other matters to attend to. Should we chance to encounter again, you shall meet the jaws of my fell-beast."_

With that, it swung itself expertly onto the back of the beast, and the thing spread massive wings, launching itself into the air. It ripped through the canopy of leaves easily buffeting the Elves with wind, and was gone.

Tauriel realized she had been holding her breath. She exhaled, slumping back against Thranduil.

"Thank the gods that's over," She groaned in relief. The Elvenking hummed agreement.

"Hold still, _mela." _He urged. "I found piece of flint while that was going on; I will try to saw through these ropes."

Now that the danger was past, Tauriel realized how weak she was from adrenaline. She gladly sat still as the Elvenking worked at the bonds. His comforting warmth helped relieve her of the lingering fear, but part of her hoped the stench of the Nazgul would keep away any spiders until they were able to get free.

After a long time, punctuated by grunts of exertion from Thranduil, the Silvan Elf felt the last of the rope fibers part. Tauriel gratefully started rubbing life back into her sore arms and deadened hands, as the Elvenking retrieved their weapons from the remains of the fire.

"How far are we from home?" Tauriel inquired, getting to her feet and brushing loam from her tunic. Thranduil frowned up at the cloudy sky.

"I cannot say for sure. I could get us back, but it would be a lucky guess. Rain is coming, which is not in our favor. Come on, _mela. _We must cover as much ground as possible before the rain starts."

The two made their way silently through the night-dark forest. It took all of Tauriel's concentration to keep from tripping over roots or rocks, so she hardly noticed when it started to drizzle lightly. It was only when the rain got harder, and she shivered from the dampness did she notice.

The Elvenking glanced down at her, and without breaking his steady lope, slid an arm about her shoulders.

"Not far now, _mela," _He reassured her gently. Tauriel nodded in agreement, and the two pressed on.

Finally, after almost a quarter of an hour, they heard the roar of the river, and the gates of the Elvenking's halls came into view. As soon as they stepped onto the path, the gates swung open and several guards rushed to meet them.

"My lord, where have you been?" One of them called. "We were getting worried! Are you and the Captain alright?"

"Yes, yes, nothing too serious." Thranduil replied. "One cut is all I received; other than that, we are soaked and tired, but fine. See to it that the Captain gets a warm change of clothes, and a bath. The same for myself."

The guards saluted smartly, and started escorting the two indoors.

-ooo-

An hour later, after a hot bath and a good meal, Tauriel felt as though she could take on the world. Or she might have, had she not been so exhausted, but food and warmth had done wonders for her. She had changed into a soft green tunic and loose trousers, but left her feet bare.

The Silvan Elf found herself wandering to the Elvenking's chambers, wondering how he was doing. She knocked twice, and entered at the acknowledging response.

"How are you feeling, Captain?" Thranduil inquired. He was sitting in bed, a novel propped on his knees.

"Much better, thank you," Tauriel responded. She noticed that he hadn't bothered to do anything about the cut over his eye.

"It is almost midnight,_" _The Sindarin Elf reminded her. "You had best be getting to bed soon."

The thought of sleep appealed to Tauriel greatly, but she wanted to stay longer with Thranduil.

"I apologize for leading us into a trap, lord." The rust-haired Elf said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed.

"It is not your fault, _mela." _Thranduil said, smiling slightly. "I was not aware that Orcs were clever enough to actually set up a trap all by themselves. In a sense, it is quite amusing to think of how long they must have spent dreaming up ideas to trap Elves."

Tauriel snorted, flopping back and lacing her fingers on her stomach.

"The Nazgul said something about Isengard," She remembered. "If I recall correctly, it is a settlement in the deep South, correct?"

"Yes," Thranduil agreed. "It has been long since I have heard its name spoken. I do not know why Orcs are gathering there, nor can I do much about it as the present time. We must wait, and see if any more news reaches us from the Southern and Eastern lands"

The two lapsed into silence, Thranduil going back to his book, and Tauriel staring at the flickering lantern above her. After a time, the Elvenking shifted, peering past his knees at the She-Elf.

"Are you going to stay down there all night?" He inquired. Tauriel turned to look at him.

"Oh, apologies, lord. I will leave if you wish it."

"I do not care if you stay or go," Thranduil admitted, "However, if you are to remain, you will likely fall off the end of the bed. Fetch that blanket there and move up here if you wish."

Tauriel raised an eyebrow at this offer. She didn't feel like going all the way back to her quarters, but at the same time, she didn't want to intrude on the Elvenking's space. On the other hand, he had offered, and the Silvan Elf was aware that when he said something, he usually meant it. He was not inclined to being polite if he did not like it. If he didn't like her presence, he would have thrown her out long ago, or just not let her in to begin with.

"Thank you, lord," She told him gratefully, taking the black blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapping herself in it. The Elvenking moved over to make room for her, then went back to his book.

"'History of Mordor and the Eastern Lands,'" Tauriel read on the cover. "'Written by Elinder, Historian of Rivendell.' Sounds rather dull."

Thranduil chuckled as Tauriel made herself comfortable. "You appreciate history more when you have experienced it, _mela."_

Tauriel rolled her eyes at this. "I am sure the events at Dale will be in a history book someday, and did I appreciate that? Shall I tell the young Elves a hundred years from now that I watched the King Under the Mountain die before even being crowned?"

"You," Thranduil told her, leaning over and kissing her lightly on the forehead, "Can close your chattering mouth and get some rest. Perhaps that will lessen your distaste of history."

Tauriel sighed and lay down, allowing exhaustion to sweep over her frayed nerves. Within minutes, sleep welcomed her into its embrace.

Thranduil kept reading for a little longer, then frowned. He looked up at the ceiling, feeling as though something evil had passed over the halls of Mirkwood, heading South East. He remembered what the Nazgul had said about having other matters to attend to, and the two Elves had been lucky enough that its quarrel was not with them at that point.

The Elvenking put the book aside, then stretched up to dim the lantern. He settled onto his side, facing Tauriel. She was sound asleep, lips parted slightly as her breath puffed several stray hairs that had fallen in her face.

Thranduil smiled as drowsiness tugged at his senses. For so long he had been without someone to love and protect—Legolas was capable of taking care of himself, and he had not once asked for his father's help on anything. But now the Elvenking had finally found someone who had shared losses as he had, and who truly needed someone to confide in and be loved by.

"Goodnight, _mela." _Thranduil murmured softly, pulling her close to his chest. Tauriel stirred slightly, but didn't wake. Thranduil allowed one more thought to cross his mind before sleep claimed him.

_Under my protection._

**A/N: Hey reviewers, I'm, like, a real person. So if the answer is, 'No, I wouldn't grab a random person and ask for them to write smut,' How about not sending me the same message asking me to write smut three times in a row? I'm sure I made that pretty clear that I wasn't going to write smut. This chapter will be about as close as it gets, and this is not even close. Apologies for being harsh, but my answer is final. NO SMUT. PERIOD. There are other authors who are comfortable with that who you can check out. Thank you, have a nice day.**

**Also, person who asked me to write smut, you know who you are. I don't hate you! Honestly! I'll gladly accept your suggestions as long as they keep a T-rating or below! I'm not trying to scare you off, really. :)**


	10. Chapter 10 - They Say Time Heals All

**A/N: I'm a little disappointed that I haven't been able to beat my kickstarter oneshot (it's not in this story-it's another one-chapter thing called ****_My Apologies, _****for anyone who doesn't know) but I gave it my bet shot, and I think I came pretty close in this one. Have some disagreement and tension, with some fluff at the end. Enjoy! Based on the suggestion by The Silver Queen.**

"My lord, are you alright?"

The Elvenking of Mirkwood's dark eyebrows scrunched together, as he lounged sideways on his throne, fingertips to his lips and eyes closed. Tauriel stood at the base of the throne, waiting expectantly.

"Whether or not I am alright is none of your concern, Captain." The Sindarin Elf stated, opening his eyes to glare down at her. Tauriel raised an eyebrow.

"Well I am making it my concern." The Silvan Elf retorted. "What is troubling you?"

"Captain," Thranduil's tone made it clear that he was already approaching his wit's end, "I am your King. Your superior. That means that my business is not yours, and that you will not make it yours. You are dismissed."

Tauriel crossed her arms, stubbornly refusing to budge from her spot.

"My lord, up until now, I have always readily listened to your troubles, and you have listened to mine." She reminded him, glaring up at the Elvenking. "Why is this one so bothersome that you do not even speak to me about it?"

The Sindarin Elf swung his feet off the arm of his throne, stood, and leaped off the three-meter dais, landing gracefully in front of the She-Elf. As he straightened, Tauriel saw how stormy his crystalline eyes were. Thranduil stepped forwards, towering over the Silvan Elf.

"Captain Tauriel, I believe I told you that you are dismissed." He said, his voice barely above a growl. "It is in your best interest that you obey that order."

The Silvan Elf got ready to protest, then saw the tiniest curl of his lip, barely exposing his teeth, like an animal who had reached the very limit of its patience.

"As you wish." She gritted, before spinning around and storming away.

That evening, Tauriel decided to do something about her King's apparent bad mood. She went down to the kitchens after the evening meal had been served and most of the cooks had left, determined to make something to sate the Elvenking.

"Captain Tauriel," The laid-back head cook, Tsurim, greeted her. "What brings you to my humble kitchens at this hour? Need help with something?"

"No, thank you." Tauriel replied, leaning on the counter. "I'm making something for the King. He seems to be troubled lately, and I'm determined to get to the bottom of it."

Tsurim raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. "That so? Well, all I can say is be careful. Thranduil had get dangerous when he's worked up. But other than that, more power to you, Captain. If you need me, I'll be in the cellars."

Tauriel smiled fondly as the brown-haired cook puttered off towards the cellars. He would likely spend the remainder of the evening chatting with Welrush the cellarkeeper, and enjoying a beaker or two of nutbrown ale.

The Silvan Elf moved about the now-empty kitchens, gathering her needed supplies—two large mugs, half a dozen potatoes, an assortment of vegetables and spices, and some partridge meat, and set to work.

Tauriel heated the stove and put on a small pan of water, then peeled and boiled the potatoes, mashing them into a pulp. In a separate pan she melted some butter, and added in the partridge meat and the vegetables, frying the lot. The Silvan Elf added the mix to the potatoes, stirred it, and cautiously tried it. To her pleasant surprise, it didn't taste as bad as she had thought it would.

Encouraged, Tauriel alternately stirred the mix and added in various spices, including a bit of garlic, some parsley, and a pinch of black pepper with salt.

Once she was through, Tauriel was quite pleased with herself. She didn't cook often, and this was only the second or third time she had tried making soup of any kind in her life.

The rust-haired Elf poured the thick soupy mix into the two mugs, then placed them on a small tray to take to the Elvenking.

As she padded through the halls with her tray, Tauriel hoped desperately that she would be able to find out what was troubling her King, and console him on it.

Finally, she reached the Elvenking's chambers, and knocked softly.

"Yes, what is it?" Came the response. Tauriel entered, and saw Thranduil lounging on the bed in almost the exact manner he had been on his throne earlier that day. His eyes were closed, but opened when he heard her footsteps. His gaze darkened as he saw her.

"Captain—" He began, but Tauriel cut him off.

"My lord, I want to help you. I did not see you at dinner this evening, and you have been out of sorts all recently. I made you some soup that I hope you will take."

Thranduil's expression was still hard, but he just growled in resignation and beckoned her in.

"While I appreciate this gesture, Captain," He told her, taking Tauriel's offered mug, "You cannot help me now. It is simply a spell—it will pass."

Tauriel could tell he was lying, but she wasn't about to let the matter go.

"My lord, you have been increasingly anxious and withdrawn over the past seven or eight days." She said, taking a sip of her soup. "Unless there is something amiss about this particular day, I do not think you would do such a thing under normal circumstances."

Thranduil started to say something, but thought better of it. He simply shook his head slightly and took a draught of soup, ignoring its hotness.

"Captain Tauriel, you have an unsurpassed talent for stubbornness." He told her. "However, as I have already stated to you multiple times, this is not your concern, and you cannot help."

"And as I told you," Tauriel shot back, "I am making it my concern, and I wish to help."

The Elvenking's knuckles turned white on the handle of the mug, his jaw clenching as irritation started to turn to anger. He set his mug on the side table, and sat up.

"Captain Tauriel," He said, his voice carefully controlled, "What day is today?"

"The twenty-third day of summer, lord," Tauriel replied.

"Correct." Thranduil said, getting to his feet. "And according to the history of the Woodland Elves, what happened to mark this particular day?"

Tauriel wracked her brain for an answer, as the silver-haired Elf walked in a slow circle around her expectantly.

"I do not know, lord." She admitted at last. Thranduil halted in front of her, a small storm brewing in his blue eyes.

"Of course you would not," He agreed. "It was several centuries before you were born."

He moved around her to take another sip of soup, and didn't seem inclined to speak further.

"What happened, then?" Tauriel demanded, irritated now. If he knew, why wasn't he telling her?

The Elvenking set down his mug, and turned to glare at her.

"Today marks the cleansing of Mount Gundabad in the Second Age." He told her. "To you, that means nothing. But for me, it was the day my world ended."

Cold reality finally hit Tauriel as she saw the brightness in Thranduil's eyes.

"Oh, Thranduil…" She murmured, setting her mug on the table and wrapping her arms around his broad chest. She pressed her cheek against the whiteness of his tunic, whispering, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The Elvenking clutched the Silvan Elf tightly to him as though she were his lifeline, burying his face in the crook of her neck and allowing grief to wash over him like a tidal wave.

"For a time, I had hoped it would get easier as the centuries passed," He breathed, voice hitching slightly, "But I was wrong. Each year, I feel the pain as clearly as I did that day."

Tauriel kept her arms wrapped around him as he trembled silently, all his grief and anxiety escaping and being replaced by the warmth of the She-Elf. To her mild surprise, she felt wetness on her shoulder, but didn't loosen her grip.

After several minutes, Thranduil managed to scrape up some control of himself. He stepped back slightly, though his eyes were still bright and his cheek damp.

"I apologize for my behavior, _mela." _He said, voice slightly rasping. "Before, I had Legolas to console with, but now that I do not, I allowed my grief to be expelled in anger. I am sorry."

"It is no issue, lord," Tauriel managed a smile. "I was the same after Dale. I will always be ready to listen, lord. You know that."

Thranduil leaned down to brush his lips across her cheek.

"As will I, _mela. _Thank you."

**Also, I know this is insanely late, but ****_mela _****is the Elvish term for 'love,' so when Thrandy says something like, "Hello, ****_mela," _****He's basically saying "Hello, love," Just to clarify...after nine chapters T_T**

**On a side note, reading reviews make me smile :D I was looking back to see who had suggested a story like this, and I started reading down the list and I'm still smiling typing this...not strange at all! :D Thank you to all my reviewers! I see all your suggestions, and I'm constantly thinking up stories to go with them, so don't worry-chances are, your suggestion will probably end up as a chapter!**


	11. Chapter 11 - Feast of Starlight

**Not particularly satisfied with this one, but whatever. Also, I'm just making up stuff about the Feast of Starlight, because I searched it up and all I got was the musical track from the DoS. Based on the suggestion by 10th Ave!**

It was the Feast of Starlight. The day of the year where the sun's light shone for the shortest amount of time over Middle-Earth, and the stars overlooked the land for longer than any other time of year. It was a time of celebration, dancing and feasting, as Earendil gazed proudly down over Mirkwood.

And Tauriel wished she were anywhere else.

Balls of fire like large fireflies hung from tree branches, illuminating the enormous clearing in the hills near the Elvenking's halls and providing warmth in the frigid winter night. The dozen musicians were enjoying themselves as much as the dancers, the sound of flutes, drums, lyres and fiddles echoing through the forest. Booted feet raised a small cloud of dust as half a dozen Elves spun and pranced to a lively tune, egged on by those around them clapping and cheering.

Tauriel disliked dancing—it was dull and time wasting, and no matter how hard she tried, the Silvan Elf couldn't get the hang of the lively riverdancing that other Elves enjoyed so.

The She-Elf stood at the edge of the crowd with her beaker of wine, wishing she were somewhere else. She didn't mind the Feast of Starlight—the feasting part, when they would go into the forest and enjoy as much as they could eat by the evening sunlight—but she despised the aftermath.

One thought gave her comfort—the fact that she wasn't the only one having a bad time. Thranduil sat on his slightly raised platform, looking like he wanted to join, in but at the same time he had to retain his royal demeanor.

Finally Tauriel decided that misery loved company, so she made her way through the crowd to stand by the Elvenking's throne.

"At times I despise being a King," Thranduil grumbled from his seat. He resembled a great white panther lounging on his throne, watching the dancers.

"If it makes you feel any better, lord," Tauriel murmured, keeping her gaze ahead, "You are not the only one who wishes they were somewhere else."

Thranduil turned to look at her. "What, a young She-Elf like yourself, not enjoying the festival? This was Legolas's favorite event of the year when he was your age."

"I might enjoy it, if I could dance," Tauriel admitted. "Except I can't dance. So therefore I hate it."

The Elvenking chuckled. "You like to deal in absolutes, don't you, _mela? _Do not worry—I am thinking of slipping away once the riverdancers finish. Care to join me?"

"Certainly, lord," Tauriel accepted gratefully. Anything would be better than this.

The riverdancers linked hands as the last bars of the song sounded, then ended with a final stamp, throwing arms into the air. The Elves surrounding them cheered and clapped, as the Elvenking rose quietly from his throne. The next song was slower, and called for the male and female Elves to pair up, swirling about the clearing. Thranduil linked his arm with Tauriel's, and the two slipped unnoticed into the trees, the glow of lanterns and strands of music fading behind them.

"I used to dance," Thranduil said absently as they wound through the trees. "When my pledged was alive, she and I would have the time of our lives, joining with the riverdancers as equals. But after she died…I never had the motivation for it."

Tauriel hummed in sympathy, as the two made their way through the undergrowth. Finally, they emerged into a small grassy clearing on the banks of a chattering brook, that tumbled down from the hills to hurry away Westward.

Tauriel gazed up at the indigo night sky, where the light of Earendil outshone all the other stars around him.

"Beautiful," She murmured. "If more of the Feast of Starlight was like this, I might actually enjoy it."

Thranduil unlinked his arm from hers, and bowed slightly.

"May I have this dance, Captain Tauriel?"

The Silvan Elf turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," The Elvenking replied. He had one hand outstretched to her chivalrously, but a sassy smirk was tilting up the corners of his lips.

"Unbelievable," Tauriel snorted, but placed her hand in his. "You seem to have forgotten that I cannot dance, lord."

"Easily remedied," The Elvenking reassured her. "Just follow my lead, _mela."_

The Sindarin Elf clasped Tauriel's right hand in his left, placed his right on her hip, and instructed her to place her left hand on his shoulder.

"There's no music," Tauriel realized. "What shall we—"

"Shh," Thranduil shushed her, nodding at the stream. "I shall trust in Earendil to provide the appropriate conditions."

Tauriel highly doubted that—Earendil probably had better things to do, but nothing else could be done about it. Then she listened to the laughing stream, and the hiss of a chill wind through the trees, and realized that it did have a rather ethereal musical quality—never repeating, yet always the same, a constant melody.

"Do you hear?" Thranduil murmured softly, his head bent close to hers.

"Yes, lord," Tauriel breathed in awe.

"Good," The Elvenking smiled slightly and started the dance.

It took Tauriel a few steps to adjust, but she managed to catch the peculiar rhythm and move in sync with Thranduil. The two Elves, Sindarin and Silvan, swirled around the night-dark clearing in perfect harmony. The Elvenking's long robes billowed about their legs, creating a small link with reality, but other than that, the two were oblivious to all around them, dancing under the stars.

After a time, Tauriel noticed that the dance had slowed to where she and her King were simply swaying to the melody of the Greenwood, arms wrapped about each other.

"I think I like the Feast of Starlight," Tauriel murmured, her head resting on the Elvenking's shoulder. Thranduil's hand was creating a warm patch between her shoulders, a welcome comfort in the chilly night. His chuckle rumbled in his chest, sending a pleasant tingle down the Silvan Elf's spine.

"That is good, _mela. _I am sure Earendil would be happy to hear that." He told her. "Come along—we had best be getting back, or the others shall miss us."

Tauriel was reluctant to leave such tranquility, but she interlaced her fingers with Thranduil's and followed him back through the trees towards the music and laughter.


	12. Chapter 12 - House Martin

**Alright, it's almost 2 AM and honestly I can't remember half of what I just wrote. Let's just hope there are no spelling errors or whatever. I need sleep naow.**

"Tauriel? Are you in there?"

Thranduil stood anxiously outside his Captain of the Guard's quarters, awaiting a nonexistent answer. He hadn't seen the Silvan Elf for almost a week, and while that wasn't unusual, a swift asking about had reveal that no one else had seen her either.

"Captain?" The Elvenking asked again. No response. Worried, he tried the handle. Surprisingly, it was unlocked, and the Sindarin Elf let himself in. The room was dark, and freezing cold—the hearth fire had died to the barest of sparks, and the hanging lantern was dim.

Then Thranduil's keen eyes caught a dark lump curled on the bed.

"Tauriel!" The Sindarin Elf was instantly at her side, shaking the She-Elf's shoulder. "Are you alright? What has happened?"

The Silvan Elf stirred, managing to open her eyes slightly. Thranduil reached up and brightened the lantern to get a better look at her.

Tauriel's eyes were almost crusted shut, and her usually well-kept hair was tangled and unkempt. She apparently hadn't bothered to change out of her nightclothes, or bathe in several days.

"You look wretched, _mela." _Thranduil murmured, though he was relieved that she was conscious, as he had a good reason why she had allowed herself to fall so far. "What happened?"

Tauriel curled away from him, as though ashamed of her reasons, but Thranduil pulled her back and started clearing her eyes with a corner of his robe.

"I will not get angry, _mela." _He reassured her. "Is it that Dwarf? Durin's Day passed several days ago, and you have not come out of your room since. Did you allow grief to overcome you?"

The Silvan Elf made a small noise of agreement, but Thranduil noticed how pale and sickly she looked. Elves could never get illness of any kind, but Tauriel's face was hollow, and her arms were skinnier than they normally were.

"I'm s'rry," She mumbled, voice hoarse and raspy.

"Do not be," Thranduil soothed, rubbing the last of the crust from the Silvan Elf's eyelashes. "It is natural to grieve on the anniversary of a lost one. Even I still do, though it has been centuries since the loss of my pledged."

The Elvenking helped Tauriel sit up, though the wasted She-Elf could barely support herself. It was clear that she wouldn't be able to walk, much less get a bath and some food.

"Have you eaten at all in the last week?" Thranduil inquired, keeping one arm firmly wrapped around her shoulders.

"No lord," Tauriel managed, though her speech was still slurred.

The Sindarin Elf laid her gently back down upon the pillow, pulling the blanket over her.

"I am going to get you some proper food," He told her. "I shall be back soon, _mela."_

Tauriel allowed herself to slip back into a groggy semiconscious state, as Thranduil glided from the room.

Some time later—Tauriel's mind had long ago lost track of the cycle of time—the door opened, and the Elvenking's bulk was as her side once more, gently slipping an arm under her shoulders and lifting her into a sitting position. It took all of Tauriel's effort to raise her hands and cup the bowl being held to her mouth. It was a thick soupy mix, quite hot, and it stung on the Silvan Elf's cracked lips. However she forced herself to get down two swallows, before coughing wracked her body and she was forced to stop.

Thranduil waited patiently while Tauriel coughed, but the sensation had elicited a spark of new life in her—she still hurt all over, and had very little strength, but at least now she didn't feel like slipping into an endless slumber.

The Elvenking clasped her hands about the bowl, looking relieved when he saw that the Silvan Elf was now capable of lifting it herself.

"Thank you, lord," She rasped finally. "I…I allowed my grief to get the better of me, and it seems it was an extremely poor choice on my part. I am sorry."

"It is over now, _mela." _Thranduil murmured. "Get the rest of that soup in you, and I shall fetch the healers to get you some proper care."

-ooo-

Several hours later, Thranduil puttered about the throne dais after being shooed off by the healers. The Sindarin Elf tried not to think about how potentially close Tauriel had come to fading. He just couldn't lose her—she was all he had left in Mirkwood. If she were to one day vanish, would he have the will to make it to the Western shores to take the ship over the Sea, or would he too fade out of existence?

The Elvenking pushed such thoughts out of his mind. Tauriel was safe now, being tended to by the sister healers, Loosestrife and Bryony. With luck she would soon be up and walking under their expert care.

"My lord?" Came a soft voice behind him. Thranduil whirled to see Tauriel standing there, supported on the arm of the golden-haired She-Elf, Loosestrife.

"Captain," He exclaimed, just barely catching himself from wrapping her in a hug in the presence of Loosestrife. "I trust you are feeling better?"

Tauriel nodded wordlessly, as Thranduil dismissed the healer with a wave. Once she had gone, the Sindarin Elf stepped forwards and enfolded the Silvan Elf in his robes, hugging her to him.

"How do you feel, _mela?" _He inquired, loosening his grip slightly after a few moments.

"Much better, lord," Tauriel replied, managing a small smile. "Bryony told me she would tan my hide if I went on any patrols for the next month, but aside from that they told me to get lots of rest and good food."

"If I had told you that, you likely would have ignored me," Thranduil teased, eliciting a chuckle from the She-Elf. The Elvenking shepherded her through the halls, making sure to slow his usual brisk pace for the still-shaky Tauriel.

"Where are we going?" Tauriel inquired, as they padded through the halls.

"You shall find out, _mela." _Thranduil promised.

Tauriel raised an eyebrow at this, but didn't question.

After winding up through the corridors for almost ten minutes, The Elvenking led her through a little-used door, into a passage that opened into the bright noontide sun.

"This is where I often come to relieve my thoughts," Thranduil told Tauriel, leading her into what appeared to be a large garden.

"Amazing!" Tauriel breathed, gazing in wonder at the flora all around her. Small birch trees twisted and curled skyward, spreading their leafy canopy to shade a small dirt path, that wound its way through assorted varieties of snowdrops and bluebells. The path ended in a decent-sized circle of grass about twenty meters ahead, also surrounded by birch and flowers.

"My pledged planted much of this when she was alive," The Elvenking murmured absently, his fingertips ghosting over the pure white petals of the snowdrops. "She enchanted them to last for an age and an age, even longer with the proper care."

"She did a wonderful job, lord," Tauriel said in awe as the Sindarin Elf escorted her down the path.

Just then something white and furry exploded through the leafy canopy, accompanied by a piercing shriek from somewhere above. The thing hit Tauriel in the chest, not hard, but the impact was so unexpected that it nearly caused the She-Elf to topple over. Thranduil caught her, as the Silvan Elf managed to catch the furry thing.

It appeared to be a young snowy owl, no more than two months old. Its downy feathers were pure white and bushed out against the chilly air. Its huge yellow eyes were almost the size of its entire head, with obsidian pupils that dilated and contracted as it cocked its head at Tauriel.

"It must have been chased here," Thranduil realized, as the small bird launched itself from the She-Elf's hands to perch in a nearby birch tree. "Birds often come here for sanctuary, as the hawks and great hunting fowl are forbidden from entering this garden."

Tauriel studied the young owlet as it preened its ruffled feathers, now ignoring the two Elves

"It's very beautiful," She noted, as Thranduil escorted her farther down the path.

"Indeed," The Elvenking agreed. "Perhaps we shall see more while we are out here."

Tauriel gazed in wonder at the beautiful flowers, in full bloom despite the early winter chill.

The two reached the clearing at the end of the path, and Thranduil sat her down in a patch of soft grass at the base of one of the birch trees.

"Whenever I come here," The Elvenking said as he settled beside the Silvan Elf, "I sit here and watch the birds. They are carefree, tending to their young in the spring months, with nothing to worry about so long as they remain in this garden."

"That sounds lovely," Tauriel murmured wistfully, leaning back against the broad tree trunk.

A house martin hopped out of the flowers onto the grass, making it several feet before halting and regarding them curiously.

"I have always liked house martins," Tauriel said absently, leaning on the Sindarin Elf's shoulder. "They have furry feet that make them look like fierce little gryphons."

Thranduil chuckled as the bird ruffled its blue-black feathers at them, then dismissed the two as no threat to scurry across the green.

"I have noticed that it is a female characteristic to adore small animals," He told her. "If you came across a tiny fell-beast, would you think it as cute?"

Tauriel laughed at this. "If said tiny fell-beast were the size of a house-martin and therefore unable to attack me, then yes, I would consider it cute. I think males have a tendency to adore small animals, but they hide it because they consider themselves superior to females. Not that that is always true, but you males tend to have that state of mind for some strange reason."

The Elvening snorted at this remark. "I suppose I cannot argue with that. Although was it not a male who defeated Ancalagon the Black, the greatest Dragon-servant of Morgoth?"

"Was it not you whom you told me was the one who usually got slapped when you and your pledged argued?" Tauriel shot back. The Elvenking raised an eyebrow at this, then laughed.

"_Touch__é__, mela." _He chuckled, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her a comforting squeeze. "I am glad that you are alright."


	13. Chapter 13 - Spider Hunt

**Alrighty, here it is at last! 10th Ave, your review stung probably more than it should have, but hey, it motivated me to write a much longer and (hopefully) more complex and intense chapter! Yay! Please note that all the Elves in here besides Thranduil and Tauriel are completely made up. Enjoy!**

"Captain, we've received a report that the Spiders are attempting to cross the river."

Tauriel strode through the halls, the archer Brisces at her side. The male Elf, the twin of Chryses, was an expert with the bow. He and his sister were in such sync with each other that the arrow from Brisces' bow would strike the Orc's left eye, and Chryses' the right.

"Have you notified the river otters?" Tauriel inquired, glancing over at the brown-haired Elf. He stood almost half a head taller than her.

"Yes, Captain." He replied. "Lutra's holt has been managing to keep those foul beasts at bay for some time now, but it is getting harder with the oncoming spring."

"I shall organize an attack force." Tauriel decided. "The Spiders must not cross the river. They despise water, but not as much as they despise the Elves. I shall notify Lord Thranduil. Thank you, Brisces."

Brisces dipped his head politely. "Of course, Captain. And, if I may inquire…"

Tauriel paused, turning to look at the male Elf. He shifted slightly, and though his facial expression didn't change, the Silvan Elf might have thought he was nervous.

"May I accompany you on the mission to drive back the Spiders?" He asked, gaze darting to the floor momentarily. Tauriel considered this for a few moments.

"Of course, Brisces. You and your sister will be a great help. You are dismissed."

Brisces bowed briefly, looking relieved, then hurried off. Tauriel made her way to the Elvenking's chambers, and rapped on the door.

"Come in," Came the response. Tauriel stepped inside, and saw the Elvenking flipping through some ancient volume.

"My lord, there are reports that the Spiders are attempting to cross the river." She told him, dipping her head respectfully. "With your permission, I would organize a patrol to drive them back. I would take the twins, and half a score of those skilled with the sword."

Thranduil closed the book, setting it back on the shelf. "That sounds like the most wise decision, Captain. I would suggest taking at least one skilled in camouflage, to gauge the full extent of the Spider's reach ahead of time. Farran, perhaps."

"Yes, lord." Tauriel replied. "We plan to leave as soon as I can get the patrol organized. Lutra's kin have been doing their best to keep those foul beasts at bay—perhaps they shall aid our mission."

"I can see no reason why not," The Elvenking said. "Very good. You are dismissed."

-ooo-

"Captain, I believe you should see this."

Tauriel looked around for the source of the voice, bewildered. She caught a slightly movement out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked toward it, there was no one there.

"Over here, Captain." Came the slightly amused voice once more.

Tauriel finally spotted its owner, crouched no more than two meters away from her. Farran the Silvan Elf was so skilled at disguise that he could walk through the center of an Orc's camp unnoticed. His face was painted with green dye and smeared with dirt and sap, his long brown hair pulled back under a hood that was the same color as the sun-dappled leaves. His tunic and pants were much the same, rendering him all but invisible unless he moved.

"Yes, Farran, what is it?" Tauriel inquired. The male Elf beckoned her to a branch that overlooked the rushing river below. The Captain of the Guard had ordered the twelve other Elves to fan out and surround the Spider's nest—a huge mass of webbing and rotting flora woven together in the trees.

"Over there, can you see?" Farrab pointed with a bark-painted hand to a spot above the rushing water. Tauriel narrowed her eyes, and caught the glimmer of sunlight reflecting off silk.

"Is that—have the Spiders managed to get a thread across the river to this bank?" The Silvan Elf asked.

"Correct, Captain." Farran agreed. "It must have taken them months of spinning and casting and recasting before they finally snagged a branch. They are building a bridge, do you see?"

He gestured to the opposite bank, and Tauriel could see, half-concealed by new-sprouting foliage, a mass of web woven expertly onto the one string. It wasn't even long enough to protrude over the water, but Tauriel calculated that once it was across, the Spiders would flood across in mass, and the huge web would be near impossible to destroy, each thread having the strength of steel.

The situation now took on a new urgency. Tauriel glanced down and saw several dark shapes flitting past under the water. Good. Lutra's kin had arrived to deal with any Spiders unfortunate enough to fall into the water.

"Farran, I need you to get inside the Spider's nest and gather as much as you can about how they are going to use that bridge." The Silvan Elf ordered. "I shall take the rest of the patrol and try to wipe out as many of the Spiders as possible. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain." Farran's intense green eyes flickered in acknowledgement, before he dipped his head briefly and was gone. Tauriel didn't know how he managed to vanish from her sight while she was still looking at him, but she didn't question his art. She would likely never understand.

The Silvan Elf crept through the trees downriver until she reached a spot where a rock protruded from the water. Tauriel crouched, gathering her muscles, and was across the rushing river in two leaps.

"Captain," Chryses dropped down from her perch in the verdant towers, bow ready. "Farran says that there are far more Spiders than we had anticipated. Do you think continuing with the mission is wise?"

Tauriel drew her twin daggers, advancing. "Yes, Chryses. If we do not destroy this nest now, who knows how swiftly the Spiders will work in our absence. They could have the bridge build and be across the river before we can stop them. We must continue."

The brown-haired She-Elf frowned, dissatisfied, but she just readied her bow and leapt back into the trees. Tauriel followed, and the two approached the nest of the Spiders. The Silvan Elf could hear clicking and hissing, the language of the foul creatures, as they approached the outer edges of the nest.

"_A lelyalmë!" _Tauriel shouted, counting on the others to hear her. An arrow whistled past her ear and into the nest, as she and Chryses charged. The other ten Elves bounded from the foliage, blades flashing in the sunlight. Chryses and Brisces swung up into the high branches to rain arrows on the Spiders, as the other Elves clashed with the foul creatures.

Tauriel was in her element, spinning and slashing at any Spider that dared to come within arm's reach of her. One of them jumped the Silvan Elf and floored her, trapping her arms in the sticky silk. Tauriel thrashed uselessly, but as the Spider prepared to sink its fang into her face, the blade of a knife suddenly appeared between its mandibles. Melui the She-Elf smiled grimly at Tauriel as she heaved the carcass from herself.

"Thanks," Tauriel said briefly, before leaping into the fray again. For every Spider that Tauriel slew, five more seemed to take its place. The foul creatures were appearing from every nook and cranny of the large nest, poison frothing and jaws snapping. The Silvan Elf stabbed one through two of its eight eyes, then yanked her blades free to kick the dying thing out of the treetops and into the river. Like a flash, the river huge river otters were upon it, sinking strong jaws into its legs and tearing them free. The river became black with gore briefly, before the swift current carried both carcass and blood downstream.

"Captain!" Came Chryses' voice from somewhere above. "There are too many! We must retreat!"

"No!" The Silvan Elf retorted, slashing two legs from a Spider before slicing open its abdomen. "We must wipe them out now, or never!"

Tauriel leaped upon the back of a Spider who had cornered Rilas the male Elf, and stabbed it where the head met the neck. The thing collapsed under her, and Rilas snatched up his fallen sword, nodding gratefully at her.

The She-Elf was beginning to see Chryses' point now—she and her patrol had been fighting for a good while now, and they hadn't even put a dent in the Spider's numbers. But Tauriel pressed stubbornly on, unwilling to let the filth of Dol Guldur have the satisfaction of a victory.

"Captain!" Came Chryses' shout once more, quite urgent this time. "Raweru is badly wounded! We must retreat!"

Concerned as she was about Raweru, irritation at the forced retreat boiled in the Silvan Elf's gut, but she just growled in frustration and shouted,

"_Lanta nan!" _

Seething, Tauriel slew a Spider attempting to jump her, and bounded out of the nest. A swift count revealed the twins, and nine out of ten fighters were unscathed. Raweru, the beautiful She-Elf, was slung limply over the shoulder of Melui. Her hair had fallen back to reveal an ugly bite wound on her pale neck, the skin around it already reddening and swollen.

"Is everyone alright?" Tauriel demanded, as they streaked through the treetops downstream to the bridge of the Elvenking's Halls.

"Save Raweru, everyone escaped with only a few scratches and bruises." Brisces reported. "Adan twisted his ankle pretty badly, but he will heal. I am worried for Raweru, though. That Spider got behind her and jumped her. I managed to pin it to the tree, but not before it got in a good bite."

"You did your best, Brisces." Tauriel assured him. Then she remembered their disguise expert. "Where is Farran? Has anyone seen him?"

"Here, Captain." Came a voice to her left. Tauriel looked over to see a flicker of green, which she assumed to be the Silvan Elf, keeping stride easily with her.

Finally, they reached the Elvenking's Halls, and Melui ran straight for the healer's ward. Tauriel followed, helping Adan along. By the time she reached the ward, Raweru was already laid out on one of the beds, and Loosestrife the healer was bending over her.

"This wound is very serious," She murmured, pressing a poultice of burdock root, chervil and snapdragon to the ugly gash. Raweru's face was pale, and her breathing slight. "I do not know if I can save her. The poison has already reached her heart."

Tauriel helped Adan over to one of the other beds, and got Bryony, sister of Loosestrife, to see to him. Then she stood anxiously peering over Loosestrife's shoulder, until the healer threw her out of the infirmary.

The Silvan Elf paced outside restlessly, knowing that she had gotten Raweru into this situation. If only she had listened to Chryses the first time she had called. They would have retreated unscathed, leaving a good many of the Spiders slain. Not all of them, but however many now lay dead were that many fewer to work on the bridge over the river.

"Captain?"

Tauriel turned to see Brisces coming down the corridor.

"How is Raweru?" He inquired, dipping his head respectfully to her.

"Not good," Tauriel growled, seething with frustration and guilt. "Loosestrife said she might not make it. I am such a fool! If I had only listened to your sister's call sooner, Raweru would have never—"

"Captain," Brisces interrupted, "It is not your fault. You had no way of knowing. To her credit, Raweru kept fighting for a good while after she was bitten, only stopping when the poison started to kick in and Melui had to look after her."

Tauriel knew the Silvan Elf was trying to make her feel better, but it didn't help. Guilt boiled in her gut still, making her restless and agitated as she stared at the closed infirmary door.

Just then the door opened, and Loosestrife stepped out, wiping blood and bits of poultice from her hands on a rag.

"Well?" Tauriel demanded impatiently. "How is she?"

The healer's pale eyes were bright, as she shook her head silently.

"Oh, goodness," Brisces murmured. Tauriel just stood numbly, in shock.

"The poison had reached her heart long before you even got here," Loosestrife said sadly. "I am surprised that she held on for as long as she did. But her name will pass into the stars now. I'm sorry,Captain."

Brisces hung his head, making a fist with one hand and placing it on his heart, in a silent salute to a fallen friend.

"Captain, are you alright?" Loosestrife inquired. "You know it is not your fault. She would have—"

"I am aware of that, Loosestrife." Tauriel said sharply. Too sharply, she realized, as the healer flinched slightly.

"I'm sorry, Loosestrife." The Silvan Elf murmured, going over to embrace the healer. "You did all you could. I must report to Lord Thranduil now."

She turned and padded down the hall, every step sending shockwaves of grief and guilt through her. Brisces was probably right, it wasn't her fault, but that wouldn't stop her from thinking of all the things she could have done differently. She could have been at Raweru's side, helping her fight off the Spiders. Or, actually listened to Chryses' advice and gotten out of there sooner.

Different outcomes swirled like a snowstorm in the Silvan Elf's mind as she made her way numbly to the Elvenking's chambers. All of them ended with a beautiful She-Elf still alive, filling the forest with her infectious laughter and bringing joy to her comrades.

"Come in," Came the response to Tauriel's dull knock. The Silvan Elf stepped inside, staring silently at the floor. Thranduil's bare feet entered her vision, and his concerned voice reached her.

"Captain, what has happened? Did the attack go as planned?"

Tauriel had momentarily forgotten how to form words, and it wasn't until the Sindarin Elf took her shoulders and roughly shook her that she managed to break briefly from her shock.

"No," She managed, forcing herself to look up at Thranduil's face. "The attack failed. We were forced to retreat."

The Elvenking raised an eyebrow slightly. "I do not see why that has troubled you so."

"R…Raweru is dead." Tauriel croaked, her head drooping to face the floor once more. She heard the Elvenking give a slight sigh of grief, his shoulders sagging.

"Death is not uncommon in battle, Captain." He told her. "Her memory shall be honored. Her name meant _lion of Eru, _and she shall be remembered as such. It is not your—"

"Don't say it's not my fault!" Tauriel snapped angrily, glaring up at him. "It is most certainly my fault! During the battle, Chryses warned me that there were too many spiders, and that we should retreat. Like a fool, I ignored her, and now Raweru is dead because of it!"

The Elvenking's head tilted, stormy eyes betraying that he was slightly irritated at being shouted at by one of his Captains. Tauriel hung her head once more, gritting her teeth against the huge wave of hurt that welled up in her.

"Captain, I am your King. I would remind you of that, and I do not take kindly to being talked back to." He growled. "However, I shall pardon it, because I can relate to how you feel. Do you remember Dale? How many of our kin were slain? That was due to my decisions. However, they gave their lives willingly. They entered the lands of Esgaroth knowing that they might not return, and gave their all in my name."

Tauriel clenched her fists, as Thranduil went on.

"You are not perfect, Captain." The Sindarin Elf stated. "And I believe you sometimes forget that. You are not above making foolish decisions. However, the best part of making foolish choices is that we have the opportunity to learn from them. If we choose to do so, we may make the better choice next time."

Tauriel's vision started to blur, and she bit her lip hard. Then the Elvenking's firm hand encased her jaw, tilting her head up to face him.

"Chin up, _mela." _He said softly. His expression was a mask, the only crack being his eyes. "Raweru did not give her life in vain. You did not cause her to die. And I do not think she would like it if she knew your current state of mind, do you agree?"

"Y-yes," Tauriel managed. The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the Sindarin Elf's lips. He spun her around and gently pushed her out the door.

"Get some food and rest," He ordered. "Come back when you are feeling better."

Tauriel turned and started down the hall, trying to make herself believe the Elvenking's words, but heavy guilt still weighed on her.

After a good meal, the Silvan Elf sat in her quarters, thinking. Raweru was dead, and there was nothing more she could do about that. But she could avenge the She-Elf. Make the Spiders pay for what they had done, and finish the work that had been started.

Jaw set with cold determination, Tauriel made her way to the armory. She sharpened her two best daggers until the blade could break skin at a touch, and filled a quiver with as many arrows as it could hold, each shaft straight and true, tipped with the sharpest flint. Slinging quiver and bow over her shoulder, the Silvan Elf strode from the Elvenking's Halls and into the forest.

Unbeknownst to the She-Elf, her departure had not gone unnoticed. Farran sat by the gates, blending in with the rock face and shrubbery, gazing out at the Greenwood. Tauriel marched past, not even noticing him, the light of cold resolution bright in her eyes. Farran raised an eyebrow as she vanished into the forest, knowing what she was going to do, but the master of disguise didn't budge, deciding that it would be good for her.

-ooo-

Farran jerked out of his doze at the sound of footsteps. The sun was dipping below the horizon, shrouding the Greenwood in darkness and turning the sky crimson. There, coming across the bridge, was Tauriel. The Silvan Elf was covered head to toe in twigs, spiderwebs, grime, and cuts in varying stages of severity. Her quiver was empty, not a single arrow remaining, and her tunic was torn in at least half a dozen places.

The master of disguise was on his feet in an instant, and at the She-Elf's side.

"Captain, what happened?" He demanded. Tauriel's stride was exactly the same as it had been when she left, though Farran could tell she was in a good deal of pain.

"I avenged Raweru." Tauriel gritted out. "The Spiders will not be attempting to cross the river anytime soon."

"What, you destroyed the bridge and took on that entire nest all by yourself?" Farran asked incredulously. "You are mad, Captain. Although you made it back, you look wretched. Loosestrife is going to tan your hide."

"Then let her!" Tauriel snapped. "All that matters to me is that some of those filthy creatures are still alive, and must be destroyed. I shall go out again tomorrow to hunt them down."

"Captain, you are not going anywhere." Farran said sternly. "I will be surprised if you can even get out of bed in the morning, much less go Spider-hunting. Lord Thranduil isn't going to be happy about this."

"And why ever not?" Tauriel demanded irately, as Farran steered her towards the healer's ward. "I avenged Raweru, and nearly destroyed that nest at the same time. If anything, he should be pleased."

"He may be in that respect," Farran admitted, "But you went out and took on an entire nest of Spiders all on your own, with no assistance or backup. You performed a perilous dance with death, and won. However, Lord Thranduil will not be pleased. He cares for you, Captain. Likely much more than he lets on. And to lose you…well, I was there after Gundabad."

This statement managed to silence Tauriel, and she marched on in smoldering silence.

Finally, they reached the healer's ward. Farran pushed Tauriel inside, and called,

"Bryony, Loosestrife, one of you take care of the Captain here."

Bryony looked up from changing the sheets on Raweru's now-empty bed. Her eyes widened as she saw Tauriel, looking as though she had been dragged through a rotten log.

"Captain, what happened?" She demanded, urging the She-Elf to sit down.

"I had a disagreement with the Spiders over Raweru's death." Tauriel growled. Bryony shooed Farran away, then had Tauriel pull off her tunic to check for cuts on her torso.

"Did you go all by yourself?" Inquired the She-Elf.

"Correct." Tauriel said shortly.

"Captain, Raweru's death was a tragedy," The healer said softly, her gentle hands working to clean the blood and grime from the Silvan Elf's body. "But you did not have to go and attempt to avenge her alone. You could easily have died as well, and then where would we be? The Guard would be leaderless, and I do not like to think of what might happen to Lord Thranduil. While your intentions were good, I do not think your actions were wise."

Tauriel gritted her teeth as the cuts stung under Bryony's wet cloth.

"It may have been thoughtless," The Silvan Elf admitted, "But I was angry at myself and the Spiders. I wanted to finish the work that Raweru could not."

"And you certainly accomplished that," Bryony murmured, cleaning the grime from a particularly nasty wound on Tauriel's ribcage. "However, you must promise me that you will not go out alone without telling anyone again."

Tauriel sighed in slight exasperation. "Yes, Bryony. I promise."

"Good," The healer smiled. "I hope you will keep to that, because I certainly will."

"What, would you throw herbs at me if I broke it?" The Silvan Elf teased.

"Oh, you have no idea of the vengeance of healers," Bryony said in mock severity. "Loosestrife and I could keep you in here for a week, drinking that awful nettle stew. You don't want to trifle with us."

Tauriel laughed, though it made the cuts on her chest sting all the more.

Finally, Bryony finished bandaging the last of the wounds.

"Well," she sighed, "By the will of Eru, you managed to avoid any permanent damage, though I won't be envying you in the morning. You'll certainly be sore."

Tauriel started to get to her feet, but Bryony pushed her back.

"Oh no you don't," The healer chided, "You're going to stay here tonight. If any one of those scratched gets infected in the morning, I'm going to know about it straight away, and not whenever you happen to wander back here."

Tauriel rolled her eyes, but sat back and started pulling the spiderweb silk out of her hair.

"I'm going to fetch you some food," Bryony told her. "If you leave this room, you'll have more than infection to worry about."

The healer shook a finger warningly at her before padding from the room, leaving the ward empty save Tauriel. The Silvan Elf chuckled fondly. The healer sisters were known for their attitude when dealing with patients.

Tauriel got to her feet, and made her way to the window. The healer's ward was one of the few places in the Elvenking's Halls to posses such. Though it was partially covered by hanging heather and grass, a good two thirds of the glass remained unobscured, allowing for a view down the mountainside to the East.

The She-Elf leaned on the sill, trying to ignore the ache starting to set in due to exhaustion. Her arms and legs felt like lead, and she was beginning to realize what Bryony meant about being extremely sore.

"Captain?"

Tauriel glanced back and saw the Elvenking standing in the doorway. He was wearing his spring crown, covered in small white flowers and greening leaves. He was dressed in his casual clothes—a simple white tunic and loose black trousers, with a green cloak about his shoulders fastened at the throat with a leaf-shaped clasp.

"My lord," Tauriel said, bowing slightly. Thranduil walked over to join her at the window. His crystalline eyes were cold.

"Farran told me what you did," He stated. "I am not sure whether to commend you or reprimand you."

"I know what might have happened, lord." Tauriel said swiftly, feeling another lecture coming on. "I have already gotten it from both Farran and Bryony. I am aware that I could have died, and that it was a stupid choice to go out alone without telling anyone. I do not need you to remind me of that."

The Sindarin Elf's head tilted ever so slightly in that calculating manner of his. Then he sighed, his hand coming up to pull a strand of silk from her rust-colored hair.

"I can see why Legolas grew so fond of you," He murmured. "You share his love of danger and recklessness."

Tauriel turned back to the window, grateful that she wouldn't get another lecture about how stupid her decision had been.

"What I find amusing is that if Farran's insight had not served him well," The Elvenking went on, "You might have made it there and back again without a single soul realizing it. The noontide watch would certainly not question the Captain of the Guard leaving, and neither would Farran, had he not accompanied you on the first mission."

Tauriel snorted. "I almost wish he had not noticed. Then I would have gotten a lecture from just Bryony, and not both of them."

Thranduil exhaled in the barest element of a chuckle, his nimble fingers sifting through the She-Elf's fiery hair to pluck out stray bits of leaf and silk.

"Swear to me that you will not go Spider-hunting without backup ever again." He told her sternly. Tauriel turned to face him, and held up her hand.

"I swear it, lord." She replied. "That makes both you and Bryony to keep a promise to. You can bet I won't be breaking it until well after you've both forgotten."

Irritation flashed briefly in the Elvenking's eyes, before he realized she was teasing.

"I am glad that you are safe, _mela." _He murmured, wrapping an arm about her shoulders briefly. "Now, I had better leave before Bryony returns and finds I've been consorting with her prisoner."

**Got a few ideas for the next one-perhaps a road trip? Ack, that looks like such a terrible idea in print, but I promise it's not going to be as awful as it looks...hopefully**


	14. Chapter 14 - Dark Horse

**This will be the third (and probably final) appearance of the Nazgul. I must admit, those guys fascinate me to no end. I'm considering writing a series of stories on their (mis)adventures during the Third Age. I mean, they can't have spend all those centuries just sitting around doing nothing, right? **

_Not again, _Tauriel thought sourly. The Silvan Elf crouched in the high boughs of a great spreading oak, scowling down at a huge dark horse cropping grass in the night-dark clearing below. She could occasionally catch a glimpse of the beast's eyes, glowing red like coals as it grazed, riderless.

The Riders had returned to the Woodland Realm, on top of a stray pack of Orcs camped in the Northern hills. The foul creatures, almost fivescore strong, would make their way in small groups into the Elvenking's forest to ambush patrols. Almost two dozen Elves had suffered various wounds from the things.

Tauriel unslung her bow and sent a shaft straight between the horse's eyes. There was a sharp metallic _ping, _and the horse jerked its head up in alarm. The arrow fell into the grass.

The creature had armor? Tauriel seethed silently from her perch. She didn't want to get anywhere near the Rider's means of transport, but if arrows were out of the question, she just might have to.

The Silvan Elf unsheathed her dagger, and was about to make her descent, when she caught the sour stench of Orc on the cool night breeze. That was all she needed.

Tauriel debated her options, as the horse tossed its head and nickered below her. She could kill the horse and risk the wrath of either the Rider or the Orcs nearby, or she could leave to dispatch the Orcs and allow the Rider free roam over the forest.

The She-Elf decided that while the Orcs were a nuisance, the Rider, the servant of the Dark Lord, was the bigger threat. Tauriel leaped silently down from bough to bough, landing lightly in a patch of moss.

All senses on high alert, the Silvan Elf made her way into the clearing. The horse, though undoubtedly catching her scent, ignored her for the moment as it grazed, tail swishing to flick away insects. Tauriel got within a meter of it, still moving warily, and prepared to slice open its belly.

There came the tiniest rustle from the undergrowth, and Tauriel whirled, heart racing. Staring into the night-dark forest, she could make out nothing save the silhouette of trees and undergrowth.

Something butted against her shoulder, coupled with the whoosh of exhaled breath on her neck, and Tauriel spun around to see that the horse had taken interest in her. Its glowing crimson eyes startled her so much that the She-Elf jerked back and instinctively slashed with her dagger, slicing open the beast's velvety nose. The horse reared, screaming in pain and pawing at the air. Its cry was unlike any horse Tauriel had ever heard—a hoarse screech, as though its throat had been cut long ago. One hoof clouted her heavily across the side of her head, knocking her to the ground and stunning her.

Far off in the forest came faint shouts, in the guttural language of the Orcs. Through her daze, Tauriel cursed her hastiness as she tried to struggle to her feet, stars dancing in her vision. The horse stamped and whinnied, ducking its head to paw at its snout.

Something moved in the undergrowth, as the sound of Orcs grew louder. Tauriel staggered and slumped to her knees, her head spinning too much to keep her feet for more than a few seconds.

A black-robed figure exploded from the undergrowth, and Tauriel caught the flicker of a silver blade in the moonlight. The thing slapped the horse's rump, and the beast jumped before thundering into the trees and vanishing. The Rider seemed to notice Tauriel then. Its hood swiveled back towards the sounds of Orcs rapidly growing closer, then with a hiss of annoyance, it sheathed its sword. It seized the She-Elf, one gauntleted hand clamping hard over her mouth, and dragging her into the nearby hollow between two large roots. It pressed Tauriel back against the rough bark, enveloping the disoriented Silvan Elf in its robes.

_"__Be still, fair one!" _It snarled savagely, its smoky breath breaking on her brow. _"Or you'll never move again!"_

Its hand tightened on the Silvan Elf's jaw, warning her. This thing could break her neck as easily as snapping a twig. Tauriel stopped struggling then and stilled, every muscle in her body tensed in alarm as the sound of what must have been at least half a dozen Orcs came less than three meters away from them.

_"__Where's he gone?" _One of them bellowed in Black Speech, followed by the sound of stamping and slashing at flora. _"I saw him just a moment ago! He needs to learn that the Orcs of the North answer to no one, Dark Lords or otherwise!"_

Tauriel gripped the hand still clamped over her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Her head still throbbed and she was having trouble thinking clearly, but that was the least of her problems. The Rider's dark robes must be hiding them, she realized, camouflaged against the shadowed tree roots.

If the Silvan Elf looked hard enough, she thought she could see two crimson orbs, smoldering like burning coals under the hood, but she swiftly dropped her gaze, the sight making her even more terrified than she already was. One of the Orcs discovered the horse tracks and called to his comrades, the lot pursuing the beast into the forest, creating such a commotion that they probably woke every creature within three leagues of the place.

The Rider didn't budge for several minutes after the noise had faded into the distance. Then it hissed, releasing the She-Elf and dismissing her momentarily as it strode back into the clearing. It lifted its hooded face towards the sky and let out a wailing screech, of such volume and pitch that Tauriel covered her ears, gritting her teeth in agony. The sound faded, leaving her ears ringing so that it wasn't until the Rider turned towards the sound did she catch the thunder of hoofbeats, approaching rapidly.

The Rider's horse burst into the clearing, still spraying blood from its slashed snout. It whinnied and stamped urgently, and the Rider swung itself easily into the saddle. Tauriel crept from her hiding place, glaring warily at mount and rider. The hooded gaze fixed on her, considering its options. Then it drew its silvery sword and kicked its steed forwards. Before Tauriel could react or go for her dagger, the horse thundered by, the hilt of the blade slamming hard onto the back of her head as it passed. The Silvan Elf fell to the ground as her world went black.

Farran, the master of disguise, had arrived on the scene as the Orcs were destroying the innocent shrubbery about the clearing. Even the master of disguise had failed to notice the Nazgul and its prey, so well hidden were they. Balanced lightly in the upper boughs, the Elf had watched as the Orcs thrashed their way off into the Greenwood, heading South. Then he had stared in shock as a black-robed figure emerged from the shadow of two large tree roots, leaving the flicker of fiery hair in its wake.

Farran had covered his ears along with Tauriel at the awful shriek that rent the night air, and thanked the gods above that the Silvan Elf had gotten off with only a clout to the head, instead of the business end of a Morgul blade.

The Elf made his descent as the thunder of hoofbeats faded into the Southwest, and made a swift check over Tauriel. The two blows to the head, one from the horse's hooves and the other from the blade hilt couldn't be good for her. Farran gathered up her unconscious form, retrieving her dagger from where it had fallen, and made his way back towards the Elvenking's Halls.

-ooo-

Almost half of an hour later, the archer Brisces stuck his head into the meeting chamber where the Elvenking was conversing with some of his advisors.

"My lord," Brisces piped up, clearing his throat to get the Sindarin Elf's attention, "Farran and Tauriel are back, but Tauriel is wounded—"

Thranduil's eyes flashed. Without a word, he dismissed his advisors with a wave and swept past Brisces, and towards the healers ward. Brisces followed several steps behind, wary of the Elvenking's state of mind.

Thranduil burst into the healer's ward, looking about wildly. He spotted Tauriel almost instantly, laid upon the nearest bed. Loosestrife the healer was bending over her, dabbing a damp cloth to the Silvan Elf's head. The Elvenking managed to regain his composure somewhat as Loosestrife made her report.

"She had suffered a minor concussion, lord," The healer told him as Thranduil frowned anxiously. "I am surprised it is not worse. She took a heavy blow to the side of the head, and another strike to the back. The side wound was probably random, but the back one looks like it was precise, as though it was intended to knock her out."

"What did Farran say?" The Sindarin Elf demanded. "He was the one who brought her in, correct?"

"Yes," Loosestrife agreed. "He was very tight-lipped about it—he only said that there was an encounter with Orcs near the Western borders."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow, not convinced, but he dismissed it for the moment.

"Will the Captain recover?" He inquired. The healer nodded.

"She should be awake within the hour, though she will be bedridden for a couple of days with the side effects. Headache, dizziness, things like that."

The She-Elf wrapped Tauriel's wounds in cloth, tying cooling poultices against the wounds.

"There is nothing you can do now, lord," She reminded him as the Elvenking made no sign of moving. "I shall let you know the moment she is awake."

"It is alright, Loosestrife." Thranduil murmured absently, still worried. "I shall stay here."

"As you wish, my lord." The healer bowed respectfully, before gliding from the room and leaving the two alone.

Thranduil knelt at the bedside then, taking Tauriel's hand in his own. The Silvan Elf didn't even stir. Her russet hair had been pulled back into a braid, probably by Loosestrife to keep it out of the way.

As the Elvenking gazed at her silently, he caught a whiff of a familiar, unpleasant scent wafting about the She-Elf. He leaned forwards, nostrils flaring as he inhaled. The Sndarin Elf's eyes narrowed, pupils contracting as he recognized the scent.

_"__Consider yourselves fortunate, Elves. I have other matters to attend to."_

Thranduil's grip tightened on Tauriel's limp hand, as he remembered a time, almost a full year ago now, when the two had encountered the one known as _Nazgul. _If the aura of darkness clinging to Tauriel was correct, that would be the third time in the span of a year that the Black Riders had been spotted in the Woodland Realm. What their purpose was, Thranduil didn't know for sure, but he guessed they were searching for the Halfling who had journeyed through his realm some time ago. The Greenwood remembered the scent of Halfling, making the Riders search in earnest for its owner among the vast verdant towers.

Just then, Tauriel's hand clenched ever so slightly. Thranduil loosened his grip, realizing how tightly he had been holding her hand. The Silvan Elf's eyes opened fractionally, and the Sindarin Elf's normally deadpan features broke into a smile of relief.

_"__Meleth nin," _He breathed, as Tauriel turned her head slightly towards the sound of his voice. "You are awake!"

"Obviously, lord," The Silvan Elf mumbled, her free hand going up to feel her head. "What happened? Where am I?"

"In the healer's ward, _mela." _Thranduil informed her, glad that his Captain's sassy nature hadn't been affected by the trauma. "Loosestrife says you will be bedridden for a couple of days."

"Wonderful," Tauriel grumbled. "That is all I need."

She tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness overcame her and she was forced to lie back.

"Can you remember what happened?" Thranduil pressed gently. "What attacked you?"

The Silvan Elf rubbed her eyes, as she thought for a moment.

"I saw this black horse in a clearing," She remembered. "I was fairly certain that it was one of the Black Riders, so I went to kill it. But I spooked it by slicing its nose open, and it gave me a good clout with one of its hooves. Then the Rider showed up; apparently he was being chased by some of those Orcs from the Northern hills. From what I heard, he had been trying to get the Orcs to join his cause, but it didn't go over too well."

She paused, and Thranduil waited patiently as she tried to recall. After a few moments, she continued.

"The Rider drove his horse into the forest, then grabbed me and hid between two big tree roots. I suppose it was to keep me from telling the Orcs which way he had gone. The Orcs showed up, and followed the horses trail into the woodland. The Rider waited for a few moments, then went back into the clearing to call his horse. Apparently the beast had easily out sped the Orcs and looped back around to its master. The Rider got on, then gave me a good knock with the hilt of his sword, and that's the last I can recall before waking up here."

"That is the final straw." Thranduil growled, his blue eyes narrowing. "Once you are recovered, I shall saddle two of Rohan's finest steeds, and we shall set out."

"Where, lord?" Tauriel asked, puzzled.

"This is the third time in the cycle of a year that the Nazgul have been seen in my lands." The Elvenking said coldly. "You are the only one save myself who has been unfortunate enough to encounter them. We journey to seek the counsel of the one who knows the Nazgul best."

"And where might that be?" The Silvan Elf repeated.

"We ride to over the Misty Mountains, _mela." _The Sindarin Elf informed her. "To Imladris."

**Alriiight, looking forward to the next chapter! From all the strange creatures they see on the journey, to Elrond's wisdom, and perhaps some Arwen? Still debating her inclusion. Feedback is appreciated! LLAP!**


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